Don't Ask Me Why
by Frisky Wallabee
Summary: [Complete]Because my old summary sucked. What happens when you mix teenagers with sex, sexuality, deceit and paranoia? Well, it can't be good. AU story.
1. Troubled Teens of the 1950s

David regarded himself in the mirror. He wanted to make sure he looked normal. He wanted to make sure he looked like a boy perfectly capable of making heaps of friends. He frowned at his reflection. His eyes were too close together, he decided, and he looked too Jewish. It was like he had a big neon Star of David with an arrow pointing down on him. One of those light-chasing arrows that buzzed annoyingly. He pushed back his brown curls with his fingers and stuck his tongue out at himself.

"Forget about it," he told himself sternly. "Go and meet people."

"David!" his mother called to him from the kitchen. "If you don't get your kiester out here now, I'm leaving without you!"

David looked at himself one last time in the mirror, adjusting his blue baseball t-shirt. There. Completely normal. He grabbed his backpack off of the carpet and turned the light off in his room. Completely normal.

"This will be fun, won't it?" his mother asked as she pulled up in front of the school.

David didn't answer her. Instead, he stared out the window at the school. It looked like a school from a sitcom: red brick and tan concrete with long steps and a black-painted railing that probably felt the wear and tear of skateboards everyday. The bricks looked dull and the concrete was chipped and there were those Dalmatian-spot black blobs of old, chewed gum plastered everywhere. Graffiti was scrawled thinly over the steps that looked more like it was put on with a paint gun than a can of spray paint. He barely made out the word 'Cowboy' written in red paint on the third step to the top. What a weird thing for someone to write. Maybe it was their nickname or something but who would nickname anyone _Cowboy_?

"Oh, yeah," his older sister, Sarah, chimed in from the back. She was obviously trying to sound enthusiastic but neither of them were any bit of happy about moving to Manhattan in the middle of high school. "It'll be great."

David turned from the window and nodded. "Yeah, mom. We'll have fun."

His mother smiled. "Great! Let's get you guys registered."

"Great," Sarah and David echoed hollowly.

David looked at the schedule in his hands, surprised that he could find his first class at all. He put his hand on the brushed-steel of the handle and took a deep breath. Usually, he had no problem meeting people but this was high school, which seemed to make things harder. He was entering a school where everyone already knew each other and had their own friends. He started to turn the handle and heard a catch of conversation from who he assumed to be the teacher.

"…which makes the book utter tripe. If the book was a drinking game and I had to take a shot every time Holden said the word 'crummy', I'd be dead. In conclusion, the only reason that pompous big head, Salinger never allowed a movie to be made of it was because there is a paper-thin plot. The 'movie' would be a thirty-minute long special on the Lifetime network profiling 'troubled teens of the 1950s'."

The teacher put down the paper he was reading and clapped his hands. "Very interesting interpretation of _The Catcher in the Rye_, Michael."

"Whoo!" a boy in the back called. "Go Skittery!"

The teacher, a middle-aged man with plain brown hair and a constant smile, put the paper on his desk and reached for another. "Now—"

He stopped himself when he noticed David standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Well, hello young man," his smile widened. "Are you new?"

"Yes!" David nearly shouted and immediately hated sounding so jumpy. "I mean, yeah. I'm new."

He held up the paper the bored-looking woman in the front office had handed to him along with his schedule. The man checked it briefly and handed it back to him.

"Welcome to AP Language and Composition, David," he said warmly. "Now…David. Is that for David and Goliath?"

David smiled awkwardly. "Uh…no. It's for my great-uncle David. He's an accountant."

To his surprise, the teacher laughed. "Well, I'm Mr. Denton as you well know by your schedule."

He turned to face the bored classroom that, to David's surprise, was mostly filled with boys.

"Class," he spoke loudly. "This is David Jacobs. He's new. Don't give him a hard time, alright?"

Some boys offered bored-sounding greetings and others waved but the majority of the small class didn't even pay attention.

"David, if you would take a seat next to Michael," he pointed to the third row to an empty desk next to a tall boy with brown hair.

David nodded and went to where he was directed.

"Hi," the boy said.

"Hi…Michael is it?" David tried to smile but his cheeks felt permanently dimpled from keeping one plastered on his face.

"Yeah. But just call me Skittery," he informed. "Everyone else does."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Please, if our nicknames made sense, we wouldn't have them. Only a select few do."

David wanted to press him—like about the nicknames and who the aforementioned 'our' was—but Mr. Denton was continuing his reading of reports.

"Now," he squinted at the page. "Mr. Sullivan…I believe I said that these papers had to be typed."

"Kelly," a boy in the back of the class corrected. "It's Mr. Kelly now. And my printer's broken."

"Francis—"

"Jack."

"Jack," was it David or did Mr. Denton just roll his eyes? "Your printer had been broken for three weeks. Maybe you should use the ones in the library."

The boy shrugged. "Whatever. I don't have time."

Mr. Denton shook his head and shuffled through the papers. David wondered how a boy so…unprepared was able to get into an AP class. He craned his neck to see him and nearly sucked in a deep breath of air. The boy was…David shook his head. From a strictly _heterosexual_ viewpoint, the boy was definitely attractive. He had dark, dark blonde hair that was brown unless the light hit it and a face exquisitely sculpted as if angels carved out his cheekbones while in his mother's uterus. He wore a strange, red bandana around his neck and a yellow t-shirt with Twinkie the Kid on it under a denim jacket. Tacky but, on him, it worked. David figured that a banana suit would probably work on him too. He nearly physically shook his head. He shouldn't be having these feelings about a boy, even one as definitely bangable as that one. Bangable? What was he _thinking_?

"David?" the boy, Skittery, asked. "Class is over."

David whipped his head away from Boy in the Back and turned to face his seatmate.

"You want me to show you around or something?" Skittery offered. "We have five minutes in between classes. I can show you the pecking order."

"Sure," David replied, grateful for any assistance. "Just…who's that boy in the back?"

Skittery picked up a brown corduroy backpack and slung it over one shoulder. "That's Francis…well…_Jack_ now. He changed his name at the end of sophomore year for some reason. I think it had something to do with his dad or something. Come on."

David picked up his own backpack and tried to keep in step with Skittery's loping gait.

"I liked your report," he said, trying to start up a conversation. "Uh…what I heard anyway. I hated that book. I swear, if he didn't ramble so much, it'd be, like, five pages long."

Skittery laughed. "Yeah…but it rhymes with _The King and I_."

David paused. "What?"

"Oh…uh…from 'We Didn't Start the Fire'," he explained, blushing slightly. "_Brando, The King and I, and The Catcher in the Rye_."

"Never heard it," David admitted. "Who sings it?"

Skittery blanched. "Never heard it? _Never heard it?_ Man, I have to teach you, man. Billy Joel sings it. I worship Billy Joel."

"Really? The 'Uptown Girl' guy?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I love him. And Aqua."

He pointed to the pink t-shirt he wore that bore the bubbly blue letters that David assumed were the band's logo.

"Aqua as in 'Barbie Girl'?"

"Yeah, but that's their worse song. They have, like, so many other great ones," he stopped. "Sorry…we're not here to talk about me. I'm supposed to show you around."

"It's alright," David assured him. "It's interesting."

"Yeah, but…" his voice trailed off. "Never mind. You can learn about me later. Okay…rundown on HH."

"HH? I thought is was PS some-random-number."

"It is. But we call it HH," Skittery replied cryptically. "You won't like the answer so don't ask me why."

He sang the last part and then stopped himself.

"Sorry…Billy Joel again."

Skittery paused in the hallway and started pointing.

"Okay, see those two guys by the drinking fountain?" he pointed with two fingers in a "Disney point" that David had seen in the parks in his youth.

He spotted two boys leaned against the fountain and laughing at something or, rather, someone. A little chubby freshmen was walking by and one of them stuck his leg out. The kid went flying and the two boys went into hysterics.

"They're the DeLancey brothers," Skittery explained.

"They're _brothers_?" the two looked nothing alike.

"Yeah. The little one is Oscar. He's in our grade. He's pretty smart but has a dreadful habit of not thinking before he speaks—to anyone. He's also pretty much an ass all of the time. The older one is Morris. He's…well…Morris isn't particularly smart much in the same way that the Atlantic Ocean isn't particularly _dry_. He's a senior. Just look out for them. They can get nasty and have a thing against new kids," he gave David a look. "Go figure."

They started walking and David looked back at his schedule. He had Biology next. He'd have to ask Skittery where it was.

"Okay," Skittery stopped again. "There's my friends. Bumlets, Pie Eater and Dutchy."

He waved to them and the boys waved back.

"Hey, Skittery!" the dark-haired one called, smiling this blinder of a smile that would make Donnie Osmond jealous.

"Nicknames again?" David raised his brows.

"Yeah. I won't even bother to say anyone's real name. It's not worth it."

"Gotcha," David nodded his head.

"You can sit with us at lunch," Skittery offered. "I mean, if you want."

"Sure."

"Cool. Okay, moving on. Here we have the library. Unless you absolutely _need_ a book, don't go in there. Spot, Race and Jack reign in there. They're kind of the uncontested rulers of year eleven."

He pointed out that gorgeous—no, not gorgeous, just good-looking from a _straight_ point of view—boy along with two others: a short boy who was painfully Italian and a boy with enormous, gray-blue eyes.

"What's Jack's nickname?" David asked, trying hard not to stare at him.

"Cowboy," Skittery replied.

He remembered the graffiti. So it _was_ someone's nickname.

David waited for Skittery to resume the tour but he was staring at his watch.

"Oh, shit," he muttered. "Bell's about to ring. I have to book it to make it to Spanish class."

"Wait," David was frantic. He didn't want to be alone in the halls. "Where's the bio room?"

"Down the hall!" Skittery was already leaving. "See you at lunch! I'll come find you!"

David waved and hurried down the hall. Once he found the proper room, he ducked into class. Since it was second period already and so close to the bell, the teacher didn't check his schedule. He was too busy berating that one boy Oscar for bringing his Discman into class and—evidently—for flipping him off when he tried to confiscate it. The only available seat was next between a brunette boy who was busy scribbling down the answers from last night's homework and that boy from the library, Spot.

"Hi," David mumbled.

"You're new," Spot observed. "Spot Conlon. I shuttle here from Brooklyn."

"He mentions Brooklyn in nearly every sentence," the boy on David's other side rolled his eyes.

"Shut up, Jake," Spot reached behind David and smacked the other boy in the back of the head.

"Yes, your highness."

"Boys," the teacher threatened.

"Sorry Mr. Seiks," Spot fake-pouted. "Hey, Davey. You got a cell phone?"

"Uh…yeah," David had no idea what he was getting at.

"Number?" he pulled out one of those fancy razor phones in red and waved it a little.

David gave him his number and almost immediately, his cell phone vibrated.

**914-555-2894:** Hey. Add me.

David did and immediately, the number changed to a name.

**Spot:** There. This is how we talk in class

**David:** Why are you talking to me? I'm new

**Spot: **Feeds my ego to talk to newbies. And you'll be glad for this

**David:** Why?

**Spot:** I'm tapped into this entire school. Plus, you're from Chester which is cool

**David:** How do you know?

**Spot:** Told you I was tapped in

**David: **How come you don't use chatspeak?

**Spot: **Why don't you?

**David: **It looks stupid

**Spot:** Then there you go

**David: **Oh

**Spot: **Ok. BTW someone likes you already

**David: **Are you serious?

**Spot:** Like a brain tumor

**David:** Is this a prank on the new kid?

**Spot:**…no

**David:** Who is it?

**Spot: **You don't know them

**David:** Of course I don't. I know you and this kid Skittery who I'm eating lunch with

**Spot: **Cool. Good choice. Skitty's cool. Weird tast in music though

**David: **I've noticed. Tast?

**Spot:** Typed too fast. Taste

**David:** I know what you meant

**Spot: **I think I like you

Spot closed his phone which gave David the signal to do the same. They then went back to pretending to pay attention to the teacher ramble on and on about the wonders of the insect world for the next twenty minutes until class ended.

"Hey, Davey," Spot started walking next to him. "Come hang in the library with us. All juniors have third period free. Some thing those above us cooked up to lower delinquency or restlessness or something. Freshmen get first, sophomores get second, juniors get third and seniors get fourth.

"Uh…sure."

David was immensely surprised. Not only was he getting along fine in his first day of school but he was already hanging out with the supposed most popular boys in his grade.

"Cool."

"Hey Spot…"

"Yeah?"

"I have a question," David toyed with the strap on his backpack. "Why do they call the school HH?"

"It's initials," Spot explained as they headed into the dusty, moth-smelling, silverfish infested library.

"Okay…what does it stand for?"

Spot turned and gave this weird, half-smile smirk. "David, there's something you should know about this school and why so few girls are in it."

"Spot," David tried to remain friendly but curiosity was pushing impatience into his words. "What does HH stand for?"

He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, still smirking. "Homo High."


	2. Vibrantly Remembering Heathers

"What?"

"Over half of the guys in our school are gay," he explained. "Eighty-five percent of the junior class alone is. There's about thirteen girls in the school. Fourteen if you count the new senior."

"My sister," David put in.

"Whatever," he waved a hand.

David blushed. This was intense. So much for being a normal boy in a normal school. He smiled tightly.

"Interesting," he managed. "Interesting."

Spot laughed. "Don't sound so excited."

David bit his lip and stared intently at a worn copy of _The Count of Monte Cristo_ resting on the chipped wooden shelf so he wouldn't have to look at Spot's weirdly intense stare.

"I mean," he told the Dumas classic. "I'm not…"

Spot grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look him in the face.

"Davey," he smirked. "You may not be now…but you will be."

He relinquished his hold on David and led him deeper into the library. The middle was sunken into the floor in a way that David presumed wasn't meant to be. The two boys from before were sitting around, smoking. The smoke made halos above their heads in the dusty library. He looked at Jack and told his mind to shut up before it even started.

"You smoke?" the short boy held up a pack of Camels.

David shook his head. "No. I, uh, don't."

"Oh, uh, kay," the boy returned with a wide smile. "I'm Race. That's Jack. You know Spot."

David couldn't help but wonder why these three boys—supposedly supremely popular—wanted with a new kid. He suddenly vibrantly remembered the movie _Heathers_. Maybe they just wanted to use him to forge papers for them since he looked like the type until he grew so sick of it, he would be easily talked into killing them all and making it look like suicide. He shook his head.

"What?" Jack asked, referring to his sudden head gesture.

That one word made David's entire body ignite with a prickly feeling that he didn't like at all.

"Nothing," his voice sounded choked.

"Well," Jack stared at him intently. "Are you gonna sit down or what?"

David nodded and walked down the incline.

David dragged the yellow plastic tray along the metal lunch line even though he didn't feel like eating anything. Nothing looked appetizing plus, it all had bacon in it or fake crab or something that he couldn't eat. David contemplated on taking the macaroni and cheese but he had a feeling it wasn't supposed to be orangey-brown.

"Wow, some appetite."

David turned to see that Skittery was in line behind him.

"Hey," he greeted, grateful for a familiar face.

"So I heard you spent third period break in the library," Skittery noted, wrinkling his nose as they passed that disgusting mac'n'cheese.

"Yeah," David replied. "Spot invited me."

"Wow," he seemed impressed. "That means you're in."

"In?"

"Yeah. In," he picked up a carton of juice and handed one to David. "Here. Orange is the least offensive. Anyway, yeah. In. If you get invited to the library, you're semi-in. It's like a free day trip to cool. But you're _in-in_ if you get invited to Jack's house to hang out."

The thought of going to Jack's house made David happier than he was willing to admit.

"Oh," he tried to sound nonchalant. "But why me?"

"Wanna hear my theory?" Skittery grabbed a brightly colored tossed salad in a plastic container and a plate of nachos. "One of them likes you."

David went to reach for his own salad and paused, eyes wide. His body suddenly surged with all of these weird emotions. He tried to feel, not flattered, but…disgusted. Yeah, disgusted that guys would like _him_ and think that getting him to hang out with them would be a way into his pants. Plus…_guys_! But the majority—which made David want to throw his face into that tossed salad—was hoping that it was Jack. He paused, salad still in his hand. So what if he had a teeny tiny crush on the guy? It wasn't like he was going to act on it or anything. It was kind of cute too. Yeah, like a little boy idolizing Batman or something. It didn't meant it was sexual or anything. David was positive that he liked _girls_.

"David? Earth to David," Skittery waved at him.

"Oh, sorry," David shook his head. "Yeah…let's go pay or whatever."

After successfully paying for their lunches, the two boys headed down the long wooden tables to find Skittery's friends. Without warning, a blonde boy in a green hooded sweatshirt popped up next to Skittery. He draped an arm around him and smiled widely.

"Hey, Skits," he said. "Lend me five dollars?"

He used his other hand to grab the plate of nachos and balanced them on his Biology textbook.

"Blink," Skittery didn't seem to care about the nachos so David assumed they had been bought for this boy. "I lent you ten dollars yesterday. Where'd it go?"

"You know," the boy said airily.

David turned his head to get a good look at the boy. He had floppy blonde hair and blue, _blue_ eyes…well…eye. He was wearing an eye patch over the other one. In addition to the sweatshirt, he wore a denim vest so the hood hung over the back. David wondered if he was hot.

"David," Skittery rolled his eyes. "This is Blink. He's kind of my best friend."

Blink bumped Skittery with his hip, sticking nachos in his mouth. When he had mostly swallowed, he began to talk.

"Kind of?" he seemed offended.

"You know," Skittery mimicked his tone from before.

"Aw, shut up. I've been busy," Blink brushed lint off of his shoulder. "So sue me. _Some_ of us have boyfriends."

Skittery seemed to get pissed about that as if Blink had hit a sore spot.

"Shut up," he narrowed his eyes. "And I'm not giving you money."

Blink stuffed another nacho in his mouth, chewing contemplatively.

"Alright," he conceded after swallowing. "You don't have to give me money. I'll just tell the whole school that you have a crush on—"

Skittery's hand slapped over Blink's mouth so fast, David didn't even see it. His other hand still balanced the tray precariously.

"MMMSR MMAMCMEE!" Blink shouted incoherently.

"Fine," Skittery hissed.

He peeled his hand away from Blink's mouth and pulled five dollars out of his pocket.

"Yay!" Blink snatched the money and kissed his cheek. "You know you love me!"

He then skipped away to sit next to another boy whose face was buried in a book about unexplained mysteries.

"So that's Blink," Skittery offered, taking his tray in two hands. "That's his boyfriend, Mush. It's kind of obvious why we call him Blink. Jack came up with it…Jack comes up with _all_ of our nicknames."

David nodded, still a little confused by the exchange. "Okay…so…to eat lunch?"

"Yeah," Skittery smiled.

Jack pushed his hair back and pursed his lips at his reflection.

"Race," he turned from the mirror. "Tell me your honest opinion…"

"What?" Race looked up from the cigarette he had been lighting.

"Do these pants make my ass look big?" Jack comically stuck his ass out and wiggled it from side to side.

"No," Race glared at him. "I envy your ass. Why, your dad giving you shit again?"

Jack straightened and held his hand out for a cigarette. Racetrack handed it to him without even griping about how he only had one pack. Sometimes it was good to be king.

"Same old, same old," Jack snatched Race's newly lit cigarette and lit his own with it before handing it back. "So, what do you think of the new kid?"

Racetrack took a drag on his cigarette and shrugged. Jack raised his eyebrows, demanding more.

"I said," his words were razor sharp. "So, what do you think of the new kid?"

Racetrack pulled his cigarette from his mouth. Everyone knew about their trifecta. Everyone also knew that Race was gamma. Spot was Jack's second-in-command and Race only got to be in because he was witty and likable and mouthed off to the teachers.

"Cute," he stated. "But kind of chatty."

"Yeah," Jack looked back at himself in the mirror. "A regular walking mouth."

Racetrack laughed. "Yeah…but I think he was nervous. You know, hanging around with us."

"Whatever," Jack took a drag on his cigarette. "He was bangable. I want that."

He turned from the mirror and flicked his cigarette into the garbage can. "I want that bad."

"Hey, baby!" a guy called.

Sarah hid her blush and kept walking with her head down. It had taken her about three seconds to realize that not only she was pretty much the only senior girl in the whole school—there were only two other girls in her first period class—but that there was also a shortage of straight guys. She kept walking, clutching her books in a protective X across her chest. With her head down, she didn't even notice the boy until she crashed into him. Her books went skidding across the floor. Sarah blushed.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, reaching for them.

"No problem."

The voice made her look up. The boy was smiling…if it could be _called_ that. It was more like a smirk. And, unfortunately, it kind of worked on him. He was tan with a duh-brain look to him and dark hair.

"You're new," he observed, handing her a textbook.

Somehow, David possessed her.

"Your astute brain will take you far," she replied tartly.

"I'm Morris," he said, ignoring the verbal jab.

"And I'm not interested," David's spirit seemed to be settling in to stay.

Sarah clutched her last book and started to walk away. She could still feel his eyes on her as she did. What a pig…staring at her ass as she walked away. Well, he was probably in all of those dumbass classes…right? She had gathered from their short exchange that he was pretty much just a semi-guido ape. And there was no way she would run into him again.

Morris ran into the boys' bathroom. Well, ran wasn't exactly the word. It was more like a swagger. There was no way he was going to let some underclassmen see him come running into the bathroom like a fucking moose. Luckily, the bathroom was devoid of underclassmen since the fourth period bell had just rung. That is, devoid except for the one he was looking for.

"Singin' hey diddle diddle with the titty in the middle, and you swingin' like you just don' care," Oscar was singing, unaware that his brother had just come barreling into the restroom.

He held one of those fancy iPods neither of them owned which meant two things: A) his Discman had been confiscated and B) he had snitched it off of an underclassman.

"Oscar," he crossed his arms.

He didn't hear him. "It wasn't me she was foolin' 'cause she knew what she was doin' when she told me how to walk this way. She told me to—"

Morris impatiently ripped the earbuds from his brother's ears.

"Hey, fucker!" Oscar shoved him. "I was listening to that."

"Shut up," Morris shoved him back.

It was how they did the affection thing in public even though they were the only public in the restroom unless the rumors about hidden cameras were true.

"Where'd you get the iPod?"

"Itey, you know that weird-looking freshman?" Oscar pulled an innocent face. "He was _soo_ nice enough to let me borrow it. At least, he will be when he finds out it's gone."

Morris shook his head. "Okay, and you're skipping class. I seem to have taught you well."

Oscar rolled his eyes. "Puh-lease. So what's up? You've got this weird look on your face. You know, weirder than normal."

Morris suddenly felt really stupid for coming to him to spew out feelings. They didn't do that brotherly, bonding, share-your-pain shit.

"There's…a girl," he said finally. "A hot piece of ass. New girl."

"I've seen," he remarked. "Her brother's in my fourth period. The class I'm skipping. Why? You wanna bang her?"

That just made it seem like a sex thing. Which, admittedly, most of his relationships were.

"Well…I like her. She doesn't seem like a whore," he laughed. "You know, like the others."

"Oh, yeah," Oscar smirked. "Like Barbara. She'd do anything with a penis."

"Yeah…but she's different…"

"Like I care," Oscar leaned forward on the sink and stuck his tongue out at himself.

"Then why'd you ask?" Morris punched him in the arm, growing impatient.

"Time filler," Oscar turned back. "Damn, I need a smoke. Got one?"

Morris shook his head.

"Fuck…so…do you even know her name?"

He shook his head again.

"You're pathetic," Oscar shook his own head and reached for his earbuds again.

Morris glowered. There was nothing more pathetic than having your _little_ brother _say_ you were pathetic.

David sat in his fourth period class—Spanish—and cursed his luck. He had been sat next to Jack. Jack. _Jack!_ Being this close in proximity to him made his stomach lurch and flip-flop in a way that he did not like at all.

"Hey," David turned to look at Jack's grinning face. "So for this present progressive thing, it's like: _estoy teniendo sexo_, right?"

David mentally translated what he was saying and felt a blush prickle his cheeks.

"Yeah," he said. "Um…where does it say that in the workbook?"

Jack smiled devilishly. "It doesn't."

Was he flirting with him? Was Jack the one that liked him? Was he just being paranoid and there was no truth to Skittery's theory?

"Oh," David managed. "Then—"

"You're coming to my house after school," Jack said suddenly…well…said wasn't the word. It was more like commanded.

David's heart thundered in his chest. "Wh-what?"

"To hang out with me'n'Spot'n'Race," he rolled his eyes.

"Oh," David repeated. "Okay."

Jack smiled that devilish smile again. "Good. It should be fun."

Spot glowered as he slumped in the passenger seat of Jack's ancient Aerostar van. It was bad enough that Jack had to have a little crushette on Talky McTalkerson but to invite him in on their Friday night plans? Wasn't that taking it too far? Jack had never done that with any of his other conquests. Shit. That meant that either Jack had a case of amnesia or this was more than just a chance to get into David's pants. Double shit. It wasn't that he didn't like David…he didn't really know him. The kid seemed alright for the most part. It was that Jack liked him that Spot didn't like. He had been Jack's loyal second-in-command for as long as he could remember. Always beta to his alpha. Yes, he wanted to someday _be_ alpha over Jack but that want was much more overpowered by the want to see Jack naked. Of course, everyone had a crush on Jack whether they admitted it or not. But Spot was pretty sure that the jones he felt for him weren't just lust. Triple shit.

"I should call my mom," David mumbled from the backseat, pulling out his cell phone.

"No need," Jack pointed out the window. "Ain't that your sister?"

Spot couldn't help it. He turned to see David's sister—the new senior girl—start to get into a cream colored station wagon.

"Hey!" Jack yelled, leaning over Spot.

Spot took a deep breath and kept an impassive look on his face. No one, and he meant _no one_, would ever know about his crush on Jack. Ever.

David's sister turned.

"Your brother's comin' over to my place!" Jack yelled. "We'll bring 'im back in one piece!"

Both David's sister and a woman with curly hair in a bun looked over. The woman smiled and put her hand on her heart as if supremely happy that David had made friends.

Race cracked up in the back as Jack retracted his head and started the ignition.

"Let's blow this shitstand," he smirked into the rearview mirror and peeled off the curb.

Spot decided to take his mind off of Jack by turning on the radio. Immediately, Norah Jones breathy voice came screaming through the car.

"Jesus!" Spot hit the power switch again.

"Fucking hell," Jack glowered. "Erin was in here."

"Erin?" David asked but then lowered his head as if he shouldn't have spoken up.

"My dad's girlfriend," Jack explained, smiling as he talked to David.

Quadruple shit. Spot turned and looked out the window. He idly looked back at David. What did _he_ have that Spot didn't? It was because he was tall, wasn't it? Well…taller than Spot anyway. He made a vow to himself right there. He was going to get Jack no matter what and he was _definitely_ not letting some chatty, Jewish new kid from Chester horn in on his territory.


	3. Note to Alanis

"Note to Alanis," Alex Bennetson a.k.a. Kid Blink a.k.a. Blink remarked.

Skittery raised his eyebrows from the driver's seat while not taking his eyes off of the congested road. "Elaborate please."

Blink waved a CD in front of his friend's face and Skittery batted him away with an impatient hand.

"I just know you're going to make a comment on it like you always do," Blink fanned himself with the CD. "So I beat you to it. Yes, we all know it's ironic that my favorite band is Third Eye Blind."

Blink peeled off his denim vest and stripped off his green sweatshirt, throwing both articles of clothing into the backseat…and right on Dutchy's lap.

"Hey!" the taller boy complained, treating the vest and sweatshirt as though they were laced with a horrible, contagious virus that seeped in through the distressed denim of bespectacled boys' jeans.

Blink stuck his tongue out, leaning back over the seat. Dutchy was the only one of Skittery's too-cool-way-too-smart-to-associate-with-Blink friends that carpooled with them. Blink, for one, cared for none of them. They all treated him like he was some kind of germ or disgusting arachnid—take _that_, he knew what one was—that they found on the bottom of their sneakers. Why Skittery befriended any of them was beyond him. The only one he could actually stand was Snitch because Snitch was in the same boat as him. He was often treated like a moron and talked down to in a condescending way. Blink crossed his arms over his chest which was now only covered in a heather gray t-shirt. The fact that Blink was brighter than Dutchy and probably brighter than he, Bumlets and Pie Eater combined was something he kept under the hood. Skittery didn't even know and they had been best friends before either of them could spell their names.

"Blink," Skittery sighed. "I'd prefer it if you didn't throw your clothes on my friends."

"Oh, shut up," Blink said playfully, smiling widely.

"Blink…" Skittery warned him. "I mean it."

"Sure, _Michael_."

"_Alexander_."

They laughed and Blink saw Dutchy roll his eyes behind his glasses. Part of him wanted to jump back there and jam those glasses into his face but he refrained. Out of the three heads of Cerberus—although the rest of the school considered Spot, Race and Jack that, Blink knew that the true, three-headed hound of hell was Bumlets, Dutchy and Pie Eater—Dutchy was the least offensive. He didn't prattle on about fencing or other pretentious sports (Bumlets) or complain about the food quality in the lunchroom and how they needed to get a health inspector down there pronto (Pie Eater). Skittery had hardly noticed when Blink slipped away to sit with his new friend from biology, Dean Meyers (nicknamed Mush after, in fifth grade, Jack—then Francis—dared him to mush up all of his food on his tray and eat it…which he did). That was what pissed him off. That Skittery was too busy talking Freud and Machiavelli with his fancy friends to notice Blink slip away to talk to the boy who believed in aliens and the chupacabra. He liked talking to Mush. He wasn't the brightest penny in the fountain—almost constantly misquoting famous works which Blink found to be quite endearing after the initial annoyance—but he was dedicated to cryptozoology and soccer. A weird combination but Blink loved how his face had lit up when he told him he'd be the first soccer player to catch Bigfoot. He had meant it as a joke but the look on Mush's face was so cute, that he didn't mention that fact.

"Blink!" Skittery shoved him, painfully jarring him out of his reverie.

"Ow—wha?" Blink hated when people came at him from the left side. After the car accident that left him half-blind many years ago, he was very sensitive and hated not seeing what was going on. And getting assaulted from the left was the worst thing.

"Your building?" Skittery pointed out the window.

"Oh."

Dutchy snickered from the backseat. Blink stuffed the CD into his backpack and hauled it up on his shoulder. He didn't bother to grab his sweatshirt and vest from the back. They would be there in the morning.

"Later," he muttered, heading into the lobby of his shitty apartment complex.

Blink stepped into the tiny, trashed living room and dumped his backpack on the chair that stood precariously on the door, ready to topple over. Immediately, he sunk into the threadbare, plaid couch and flipped on the TV. He needed some shitty movies and he needed them now. Sci-fi channel. There, always pleasing with a horrible, original movie. What was it tonight? Oh, this was rich: _Mammoth_. A movie about a mammoth that was possessed. A mammoth that was possessed by _aliens_. He wanted ring up Mush and tell him but felt too tired to do anything. He put his hands behind his head and proceeded to do what he did when he watched these shitty movies. Call it a horrible habit or a rude one but Blink had been doing it since he was younger and secretly watched _Mystery Science Theater 3000_ every Saturday morning on Sci-fi—ironically enough. Another note to Alanis. The station that had one of the best shows ever played the worst movies ever, the exact type of movies the show made fun of.

"Now, _this_ should be promising," he told himself.

He remembered when he and Skittery used to do this, sitting around and mocking stupid movies but that seemed long ago and far away.

"And so much better than it is today," Blink sang the Meatloaf hit softly to himself and tried to get himself into the mood of mocking the possessed, extinct mammal but his heart just wasn't in it.

Jack watched David, licking his lips slightly. He put his cigarette to his lips and leaned back on his bed as David drank in his room. It was a small room; the apartment only had one bedroom which daddy dearest had graciously given to Jack. What David was looking at was a large poster of the Batman symbol and the huge panoramic, high gloss photo of Santa Fe, New Mexico. Jack had first started his obsession with the city after his dad told him that his mother had run away to there when Jack was a wee eight-year-old. Just last year, he learned that his mother had not in fact run away but had killed herself. He also learned that—at the time—he was _not_ fifteen but _sixteen_ because daddy dearest lied once again so they could get welfare without him having to get a job. His lie had kept Jack one grade behind where he was supposed to be his entire life. Therefore, at the end of sophomore year, Jack changed his name. His mother's maiden name had been Kelly and her first name had been Jacqueline. Jack Kelly. His new name. Once he turned eighteen—which would be sooner than he had thought—he was getting it changed legally.

"You like?" he asked David, smiling.

David nodded. "Yeah…you know, this is my first time living in an apartment…"

He began to prattle on about his old house on the hill back in Chester with the dented drainpipe and gravel driveway. Jack almost closed his eyes and pictured little David running around on the lawn to a sprinkler but he wasn't _that_ lovesick. He still had his pride. Still, it was a cute mental image. The sprinkler waving and sending sparkling water into the air as David squealed and jumped through it. Shit…maybe he was just transgressing with the childhood he never got. His dad's idea of fun when Jack was little was taping garbage bags together, pouring vegetable oil on it and calling it a Slip'n'Slide.

"Cute," Jack said without meaning to. He then changed his tone to a sardonic one. "Cute."

David blushed and looked at his feet. He was cute when he blushed but even cuter when he smiled and Jack was determined to make him smile.

"Well I'm still confused," Spot was saying.

He tuned into their conversation. Racetrack was one of the few that hung onto the shreds of straightdom although Jack was certain he was gay (and he was never wrong). Still, he had a weird fixation on Gwen Stefani and he and Spot were currently arguing about what a 'hollaback girl' actually was.

"Guys," Jack wrinkled his nose. "How about, no one cares it's a stupid song?"

That settled it and the two immediately shut up.

"Okay," Spot smirked. "Now that we're done arguing, who wants to get tanked?"

Race and Jack raised their hands but David nervously bit his lip. Race then elbowed him in the side and he raised his hand halfway.

"Where's the booze, Jackie-boy?" Spot asked.

"I'll get it."

Jack leapt from his bed and went out the door. His father had no idea how much booze he owned—they were, in fact, Irish and stereotypes were in fact stereotypes for a reason—and Erin probably couldn't count that high. Therefore, they would not care if a few bottles went missing. The only problem was that Jack had to go to the fridge. Back in BE (before Erin), they had an off-white fridge with crayon-drawings and Jack's semi-good report cards on them. Now they had a mirrored fridge. A _mirrored_ fridge. Now whenever Jack wanted something to eat, he'd have to look at himself in the mirror. Erin said it's the perfect way to stay on a diet. She was always thinking of ways to call him fat and bring him down. Jack had done nothing to her—in fact, he avoided her at all costs—but she did not seem to like him at all. Some of her ribbings had hit home as of late. The bitch. Jack grabbed four bottles of Guinness—man, his family was stereotypical—and went back into the bedroom. He quickly doled them out.

"Love it," Spot said, eyeing him.

"Ditto," Racetrack took a long drink from his.

David stared at his closed bottle. Jack took a sip from his and raised his eyebrows.

"David," he decided to use a little peer pressure. "What's the big deal? It's one drink?"

David bit his lip. Jack nearly laughed. David had probably never had an unsupervised drink before—he had mentioned wine on Passover. It was cute in a way.

"Come on," Jack chided.

David untwisted the cap but didn't drink.

"Guys, I'm not really—"

Before he could finish that sentence, Race leaned over and shoved the bottle up into David's face. He looked like he was choking until his entire face relaxed and he started drinking on his own. Jack didn't know whether to punch or kiss Racetrack so, instead, he just took a drink from his own bottle.

Oscar was by no one's standards, least of all his own, a Nancyboy. He was a straight arrow kid from the womb. He liked to box but hated wrestling. He lost his virginity when he was fourteen to a _girl_. He was part of the dwindling number of straight boys at the school. He never answered any questions in class although he certainly knew them all. If he played his cards right, he could stand to get into a good college if he stopped getting in trouble. Thing was, the last thing he wanted to do was feel up some guy and let them give him oral. In fact, that was what he kept convincing himself when he woke up from the dream. He had dozed off after school and awoke to find himself panting and with an erection.

"I'm not gay," he told his reflection in the mirrored door of his closet.

The thing was, it wasn't even some random guy or even a celebrity. It was a boy from his school. That weird Billy Joel-obsessed kid, Michael. What was his nickname? Snickery? Hickory? He cursed himself because he _did _know it. It was Skittery. And he was having a wet dream about him. He snailed up on the bed and put his hands over his ears, something he had done when he was a little boy and haven't done since he had hit puberty. He was not gay. He was not gay. He was not gay.

"I am not," he muttered. "This is fucked up. I don't want to fuck another boy. I don't want to fuck another boy."

_Methinks the lady doth protest too much._

Oscar chomped down on his lower lip and stuffed his earbuds into his ears and blared his music as loud as he could to drown out his inner voice. This was _not_ fucking happening to him.

Skittery was many things: safe, careful, cerebral…and a tad insane. He hadn't meant to be insane and most of the time, thanks to pills, he was able to hide it. It wasn't his fault, either. He was a victim of society. Victim of a broken home. It was when he was ten. He had been wandering around the apartment after school one day and been looking for his father. He had been immensely bored with his life and was suffering from a preadolescent ennui. He was too old to play with younger kids and too young to play with older kids. He was pretty much on his own because, at the time, Blink was in hospital after the fateful car accident that stole his sight. He went into the living room to see his father and his co-worker Jim. That is, seeing his father doing bareback tricks on Jim's back like he was a rodeo horse. Shortly after, Skittery's mom hauled ass out of there, leaving him with his father and whatever young, nubile boyfriend he happened to have. Four years of therapy later, he had gotten nowhere. Later that year, he had a complete nervous breakdown in the middle of gym class. It was the combined force of discovering the truth of the phrase "like father like son" and getting his first boner in the locker room. He was shoved into rehab institution for eight months and then readmitted for trying to kill himself by dumping a bottle of pills down his throat. Because of this—and his middle school addiction to Folgers coffee—he had earned himself the name Skittery. Now those feelings were coming back all at once and he feared he'd have another breakdown. He was in love with a straight boy. He was in love with the _straightest_ boy. He was in love with an _asshole _straight boy. The thought alone made him want to buy his head in the dirt and not emerge for a good six months.

"So," Bumlets was saying, interrupting Skittery's thoughts. "The mere statement made me laugh. I mean, an epée is by far superior to the saber. God, some people crack me up. Right, Skits?"

Skittery blinked his eyes rapidly, what had they been talking about?

"Ease up," Pie Eater laughed. "Skittery all but creams his pants when they play Billy Joel in these joints."

There's an old man sitting next to me makin' love to his tonic and gin… 

Skittery was thankful that the song had just started. He had forgotten where he was. He was in the bar of a hotel with Bumlets, Dutchy, Pie Eater and Snitch. Oh, right…he closed his eyes and drank in the song before tuning back into their conversation.

"The whole thing is asinine if you ask me," Pie Eater said. "And, Bummers, don't go into a fencing rant. I don't think my stomach can take it."

"It can certainly stomach those reconstituted, genetically mutated apple pies from McDonalds," Bumlets retorted. "And, besides, politics are asinine by design."

Skittery tried to remember when he and Blink discussed politics. A moment never came to mind. Maybe it was best. He had mixed views and wasn't really going to share with them. He didn't share a lot of things with them that he shared with Blink. The biggest one was his little crush on Oscar DeLancey. _That_ embarrassing piece of information was on a need to know basis. And they most certainly _didn't_ need to know.

Spot glowered from his spot on the floor. Why had he suggested getting tanked? Now David and Jack were macking on the bed. Granted, thanks to Jack, David had a bit too much to drink—probably more than the little ass had ever had in his whole life—and was too inebriated to remember his own name let alone sexual orientation. And, to think, just that morning, he had told Spot he was straight. He looked at Jack sticking his tongue in his mouth. Sure, straight. It really steamed him. Jack had absolutely no shame sober or drunk. Quintuple shit. He was insane. But Jack never _got_ drunk usually. He drank until he passed out or threw up and then passed out which were two totally different things. In fact, he was probably mostly sober at that moment. Mostly sober and more gorgeous than Spot had ever seen him. And, yes, he was watching him slide his hand tantalizingly up David's thigh and picturing him doing it to himself. So sue him. He was a boy and he was horny and he was watching the boy he lusted for make out with someone else. Sextuple shit. He looked at Racetrack who was sitting and smoking and not noticing the debauchery taking place on Jack's bed. Spot thought of that old saying. _If you can't be with the one you love…_

He grabbed Racetrack roughly by the shoulders and brought their mouths together. Racetrack's mouth was yielding at first—he was, of course, not admitting his obvious homosexuality—but then he relaxed and let Spot do whatever he wanted to him. Spot looked at Jack but kept kissing Racetrack. So it's come to this…

…_Love the one you're with._


	4. Mary Queen of Scots's Ears are Burning

Sarah bit the end of her eraser and tried to make heads or tails of the assignment in front of her. She was supposed to write a composition on _The Lord of the Flies_. Unfortunately, she hadn't been in class to read it. _Fortunately_, she _had_ read the book independently in the fifth grade. Still, fifth grade was seven years ago and she couldn't remember it much. She put her pencil to the lined paper of her composition book and tried to start writing.

"Sarah!" Les poked his head in through the open doorway. "Phone call!"

Sarah yanked her head up, hoping it was one of her friends from Chester. Wait, she _had _no friends back in Chester.

"Who is it?" she asked.

Les giggled and held up the receiver. "It's a boooooy!"

Sarah widened her eyes, immensely surprised. A _boy_ was calling her? Maybe it was just David or that boy who yelled at them that day to say that David was coming over his house. Maybe David was drunk or something and he didn't want to have to talk to their parents. That had to be it. No boys ever called Sarah. She was pretty much a walking billboard for virginity and all the boys seemed to know it. She had had three kisses her whole life that weren't from a relative. Three. And she was approaching age eighteen in a mere four months. Sighing, she picked up the receiver in her bedroom.

"Hello?"

"Sarah?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

"Speaking," she closed her composition book. "Who is this?"

There was a pause while Sarah tried to place the voice. It sounded a little familiar as if she had heard it somewhere before but couldn't quite put her finger on who it was.

"Uh…I go to your school," he said. "I wanted to ask you to, uh, go out or something."

Sarah heard someone snickering in the background and the muffled sound of that someone getting hit with what she presumed to be a pillow. Of course…it was a prank. Sarah felt a blush heat up her cheeks. Well, she wasn't going to let some asshole from her school prank her.

"Listen," she started to yell into the phone but then thought better and just hung up.

Satisfied, she sat back down, opened her composition book…and proceeded to stare at the pages as if they would start speaking divine truths of the universe.

David felt blindly around him. Where was he? The bed was unfamiliar, the mattress was lumpier and more sagging than the one he had. He felt around more and somehow managed to touch himself. Holy God, he was _naked_! David popped his eyes open and immediately grabbed his head. It throbbed as though an entire fanfare played by the Philharmonic Orchestra was blaring followed by a badly tuned marching band and a troupe of Rosie Perez impersonators. His eyes were dry and burning but that didn't match the dryness and burning…ness of his throat. David rubbed his eyes and stared around the room. Jack's room. He was in Jack's room. He was _naked_ in Jack's room.

"I'm never drinking again," he told himself.

He went to continue on his pledge for sobriety but heard a muffled groan next to him. Dear God, he was naked in Jack's room _and he wasn't alone_. David moved his throbbing head to the side to see Jack curled up next to him, liquor-infused breath warm on his hair and arm draped over his chest. He couldn't help it; he started screaming.

"Ugh!" Jack's eyes shot open. "Stop yelling!"

David pulled away from him. "Did we, we did, we—"

"Fucked like rabbits?" Jack quirked a brow. "I wish. You passed out before we could get to the main event."

David blushed and tried to disengage himself from Jack's hold.

"But I'm not…I'm not…"he cast a pitiful look at him. "I'm straight."

Jack let go of him and arched his back, stretching his arms above his head. "Sure you are. And I'm Mary Queen of Scots."

_Freaky Friday, things ain't going my way. Everything is gone, my life is a country song…_

Skittery ceased the song on his Discman in the middle of the chorus and shoved it into his locker Monday morning. He grabbed his composition book for Denton's class and used his free hand to rub his sinus area. He had a splitting headache and he couldn't take any aspirin because it "interfered" with his anti-depressants. Those were just a _barrel _of fun. Skittery closed his locker only to find David on the other side. He was surprised. He hadn't expected their acquaintanceship to have gotten to the seeking out level.

"Hey, you're the only one I can talk to about this because I'm really confused and freaked out and stuff," David said this all in one breath, his blue eyes wide.

"What is it?" Skittery couldn't help but chortle. "Is Timmy in the well?"

David bit his lip. "Something like that."

Skittery stopped his laughter and raised his eyebrows, urging David to continue.

"Jack and I…we fooled around Friday night," David bit his lip again and stared down at his sneakers.

"But I thought you were—"

David fiddled with his backpack strap and jiggled from foot to foot. He was very visibly nervous. It was as if someone had given him a case of the Jimmy Legs.

"So did I!" he looked around quickly, as if not wanting to be branded his second day in school. "I mean, I thought about it all weekend. I still have no idea. Maybe it was just because I was drunk?"

Skittery shook his head solemnly in a 'Jesus, this boy knows nothing' type of way.

"David, I hate to break it to you, but no matter how inebriated one gets, they can't turn."

David threw himself against the lockers and put his newly purchased composition book to his forehead.

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that," he moaned into the mottled cover.

Skittery smiled.

"Sorry, man. Those are the breaks," he shook his head. "But! Do you like Jack back? Like, since you're—"

David whipped the composition book from his face and glared at him. "I'm not."

Skittery rolled his eyes. "Right. And I'm Mary Queen of Scots."

David stamped his foot. "Would people stop _saying that_!"

He started pacing a little in the hallway, spinning the book nervously in his hands. He kept biting his lip and jiggling his foot as he paced. Skittery smiled to himself. David looked kind of cute like that. He could see why Jack liked him.

"I don't know!" he lamented. "I guess I…"

He stopped and gave Skittery a pitiful look.

"I am, aren't I?"

Skittery shook his head. "You come in straight, one Friday at Jack's place and you're a homo. Welcome to HH, David."

The venom Spot felt towards Jack was nearly tangible. He could almost spit out the venom and let it burn and fizz all over Jack's denim jacket until it bit through his skin and killed him. Racetrack popped a cigarette in his mouth and looked from one to the other. Jack seemed utterly oblivious to Spot's anger. Racetrack, personally, was confused. Maybe Spot was just pissed because Jack kicked them out so he could do the deed with Davey. He had never thrown them out on a Friday night no matter if he was going to get sex or not so maybe Spot was a little tweaked about that. But he and Spot had made out on the couch so all was well for that. Race lit the cigarette and mentally shook his head, remembering how Spot's tongue probed his mouth harshly and how his hand skittered up his chest. Man, he knew he wasn't straight since fifth grade but had never acted on anything until Friday night. Jack, of course, handled it with aplomb and was asking when the wedding bells would ring for him and Spot. He had a sneaking suspicion that Jack knew about his status all along. Still, Spot's behavior was unsettling. He was visibly pissed off. He kind of looked like a cat. Racetrack half-expected him to his, bat Jack with his paw and jump up onto the paper towel dispenser. He took his cigarette out.

"Saucer of milk, table three, mrowr," Race laughed. "What's your damage, Spot?"

Jack looked up from the cigarette—one of Race's—that he had been lighting.

"I bet you know, Race," Jack elbowed him playfully. "Hickey alert!"

He pointed at Racetrack's neck and laughed like a deranged hyena. "Where'd you leave your mark on Spot, hmmm?"

Spot glared, didn't say anything—a first—and stormed out of the restroom.

"Okay," Jack exhaled smoke. "What _is_ his damage?"

Oscar blinked at his locker, trying to recall what he had to grab. What was his first period? He grabbed a textbook. Okay, American History. _That_ was his first class. Lucky break. He stared down at the regal face of Abraham Lincoln on the cover. His entire weekend had been out of sorts since that goddamn dream Friday night. He felt out of his body and on the ceiling watching himself since he had woken up. He had watched himself laugh at Morris's lame attempt to try and ask Sarah out—the two of them had hook-ups, not girlfriends—and watched himself get hit with a pillow in rebuttal. He watched himself spoon Cheerios into his mouth. Watched himself watch porno to try and get something to happen down there. Nothing. He was more turned on by the guys rather than the bare breasts of the women. His wrists _still_ ached from the forced masturbation.

"You!" an angry voice startled him out of his reverie and Oscar realized that he had been staring at the embossed picture of Abraham Lincoln for a good minute.

He glanced up into the very angry face of his brother. "What?"

"You—"

Oscar was in no mood to argue or yell or do anything involving his bother's pathetic attempt at trying to have something more than sex in a relationship. He held his hand up and pointed to his forehead to signal a headache…one he didn't have.

"Mo, I am in no mood to be berated for your failed date," Oscar slammed his locker shut and started down the hall. "Go ask her brother if you care so much."

"Well, who's her brother?" he yelled at Oscar's retreating back.

Shit. Oscar turned around.

"He's like my height, skinny, pale, obviously Jewish. His name's Danny or something."

With that, he turned his back again and started walking to class. Maybe learning about some stupid war or something would get his mind off of his slowly incinerating life.

"In the not too distant future, somewhere in time and space!" Mush happily chirped into Blink's ear, putting his arms around him. "Hey, honey. How was your weekend?"

Blink leaned back in his chair and let his head rest on Mush's surprisingly strong chest for a minute.

"Boring per usual," Blink yawned.

"Wish I was there…" Mush plunked himself next to him. "I could've made things more interesting!"

Blink couldn't help but smile. He loved Mush's naivety and optimism as much as Skittery's pretentious friends hated it. It was a welcome change from the depressing, we-should-be-in-Seattle dispositions everyone else (including himself) seemed to have.

"Where were you this weekend?" Blink asked nonchalantly to make conversation. Unless Champ, Nessie or soccer was involved, it was kind of hard to keep Mush's attention.

"I went to a thing with my family," he giggled into his palm like a little boy. "We all argue so much. The sound and furry signifies nothing."

Blink furrowed his brow and gave him an odd look. "Furry?"

Mush nodded energetically. "It's Shakespeare!"

Blink cupped his hands behind his head and tried to smile. "I know that sweetie but it's—"

"Alexander!"

Blink cringed at the voice. Of course, he shared his first period class with Mr. Pretentious Sports Nut a.k.a. Bumlets a.k.a. Byron. Not Bryan or Brian. Byron. Like the lord. Pretentious git.

"Hello, Bumlets," Blink kept his tone even although his insides registered his appearance by gurgling with intestinal anger.

"Hi," Mush greeted him warmly.

His greeting was ignored as Bumlets plopped into the chair on the other side of Blink.

"So," Bumlets smiled. "Anyone catch—"

"No," Blink said immediately, cutting him off. "But Mush has been watching the World Cup."

Mush nodded energetically and smiled. "Yeah. Who's your tea—"

Bumlets rolled his eyes. "That's trite. I only watch fencing or cricket."

"Ah," Blink smiled. "The sports of the pretentious and mentally superior? Bumlets, how does it feel to hold yourself upon a pedestal when you live on the Lower Eastside?"

The pompous charade fell and Bumlets looked incredibly like Blink and Mush at that moment.

"Kiss my ass, Blink," he snapped but then composed himself. "I mean—"

He never finished that sentence for he was suddenly called urgently to the other side of the room by someone Blink didn't know. Blink watched his quickly retreating back and smiled to himself, suddenly overcome by a spark of affection towards him. He may pretend to be all high and mighty but he was just like the rest of them.

David kept his head down during third period break as he went out to the courtyard. He didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention to himself. Bad enough he felt like he had a sandwich board that said "GAY" on it. He didn't want to draw any _more_ attention to himself. He was almost out the door when a hand shoved his sharply against the lockers. Startled, he dropped his books.

"Uh…" was all he managed.

The boy was one of the ones Skittery had pointed out to him on Friday. The two brothers who hated new kids. This was the older one, he noted. The tanned one with the moronic look to him. He figured he knew about him and Jack and was going to pound him to a bloody little pulp.

"You Danny Jacobs?" he asked gruffly.

"David," he corrected despite himself. "And…yeah."

He got shaken against the lockers again. God this guy was strong.

"Listen you little shit," he kept his face only inches from David's. Then he backed away and looked nervous. "What does your sister like?"

He nearly collapsed. "What?"

"Music," he elaborated. "Movies, that kind of shit. What does your sister like?"

"Uh…she likes Sarah McLachlan and, um, PJ Harvey…" David continued to list off the CDs he had seen in his sister's collection. "And she really likes the Barenaked Ladies. Why do you need to—"

But he was already gone. David shakingly raised himself off of the lockers and headed back towards the courtyard. He was remembering something from _Alice in Wonderland_. Things were _definitely_ getting curiouser and curiouser.


	5. God Bless You

"What do you look for in a guy?" one of Skittery's friends asked.

David glanced up from his salad—the only safe, kosher thing in the cafeteria—and nearly blanched. It really _was_ that obvious, wasn't it?

"Please, Snitch," Bumlets held up one hand. "Not while we're eating. There is no need to flaunt your obvious straightdom by trying to 'figure us out' by asking what we look for in a potential mate."

Snitch lowered his head and prodded his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. David frowned, not really liking the tone he had taken with him. Snitch was only asking an innocent question.

"Well," David decided to answer him. It was only polite. "I guess I'd look for the same things in a guy that I used to look for in a girl. It was only one thing."

Snitch's head popped back up and his face split into a smile revealing his beaver-like front teeth.

"What is it?" he asked eagerly.

"Um…well…it's from my favorite movie," David explained. "_Singles_. There's this character, Janet, and what she wants from a guy is one thing. For him to say 'God bless you' when she sneezes."

Pie Eater snorted into his disgusting-looking, vending machine fruit pie. If the turnover on the cover adorned in a jaunty little top hat and decked out with a cape and magician's wand weren't enough to turn you off, the smell and color of the filling was.

"Really?" Skittery asked, taking some pills with a swig from a bottle of mineral water.

David had seen him do that last Friday and he explained that he had chronic migraines. Not knowing if he was telling the truth, he left it at that.

"Yeah. I mean, it's what I want in someone," he shrugged.

Snitch nodded. "Makes sense. It's polite and all. Let's you know they'll treat you right."

David was a bit relieved that they had taken this all well. He was also _more_ than a bit relieved that none of them brought up the rumor about him and Jack that was apparently circulating in the school. As it seemed, Skittery's friends thought themselves above petty gossip and rumors and preferred to talk about Thoreau and Keats and other subjects David didn't really care about. He found himself only connecting to Skittery and Snitch. The rest just kind of were surrounded by an air of pompousness that stunk worse than any perfume.

--

It shakes all over like a jellyfish. I kinda like it… 

Oscar suddenly hit pause on his Discman. It hit him like a big splash of water in the face of a drunk. He yanked out his earbuds and threw the whole player in his army surplus backpack. He was listening to Queen. _Queen_. No wonder he was having all of these impure thoughts about boys. He started laughing. Yes, it was all the music. Warping his mind and all that. He nearly kissed the floor but he wasn't one for public displays of affection…even to avocado green linoleum. Besides, Morris was heading towards him with this wide, happy smile on his face and it was creepy enough without him swooping down and smooching the floor. He held a CD in his hand and was waving it at him.

"Jesus," Oscar remarked. "What is with our world and music these days? Is it some obsession that has replaced television in our lives?"

Morris gave him a duh-brain look and Oscar waved his hand in a 'never mind' kind of way. He snatched the CD from his hands and nearly blanched.

"_Surfacing_," he read in a high falsetto which could probably break glass if he held it for an extended amount of time. "Sarah McLachlan?"

Morris snatched it back. "Shut _up_."

Oscar smirked and zipped up his backpack before slinging it over his shoulders.

"Lemme guess…it's foah Saaaaawuhh?" he let out a small cackle which earned him a smack on shoulder.

"Shut up," Morris repeated. "Or I'll tell dad where all of his porno went this weekend."

Oscar felt his back stiffen. For someone diagnosed with chronic moronism, his brother could be pretty shrewd with his threats. The asshole.

--

Jack craned his neck and stuck his chin out as he looked at himself in the ancient, tilted bathroom mirror. Spot, too, was looking at him but wouldn't let himself been _seen_ looking at him. He was still pissed although he wouldn't allow himself to be pissed at Jack. He was pissed at David. Yeah, David. He was pissed at David because Spot knew that—since he had pretty much been rambling on about the little fucker for the entire day—he couldn't do anything short of giving Jack a blowjob for him to think or speak about anything else. In short, David fucked Spot by fucking Jack and he was _not_ going to let him get away with it. Plus, no one had made Jack go as gooey as David did which worried him. Jack didn't do gooey. He was tough, sexy guy _not_ oh-mah-gawd-I'm-gonna-love-him-forebbar guy.

"Spot, do I have food on my face or something?"

Septuple shit. He had been spotted…no pun intended.

"No," he fielded quickly. "I'm just wondering why you're checking yourself out."

Jack turned so his back was facing the mirror but then turned his head to see the mirror. Spot quirked a brow, knowing exactly what Jack was doing. His future stepmumsy was putting shit on him again. He had no idea why the megabitch hated Jack so much. It wasn't like they were competing for his father's attention since, as Jack often put, his father would actually have to _give_ him attention for that theory to work. Spot mentally shrugged. He wasn't a fucking psychologist and it was one thing to want to bone Jack and quite another to want to psycho-analyze him.

"So," Race broke the minute of silence. "Didja guys hear they're changing the name of the school?"

Jack stopped making sure his ass hadn't grown and looked at Race with his eyebrows in a sexy cock.

"So they're finally changing the name to Homo High?" Spot laughed, making sure Jack didn't see him still looking.

Race rolled his eyes. "Nah. They thought that PS was too elementary school so they're changin' it to that one guy with the prize."

"Nobel?" Spot offered.

"Sajak?" Jack turned his sexy look into a joyous, laughing one.

Racetrack shook his head and put his hand on his heart as if he pitied the both of them. Jack gave him a remember-who's-in-charge look and Race immediately snapped back to normal.

"Nah, that literary guy we learned about in history…" he snapped his fingers. "Oh! Pulitzer! It's gonna be Pulitzer High School."

Jack laughed again. "Pulitzer High School? PHS?"

Spot and Race gave him blank looks and Jack shook his head.

"You two," he sighed. "PHS…pssssssssssss!"

He smiled and Spot and Race started laughing even though it was obvious that neither of them knew what Jack meant. Their laughter was cut short by the bell to signal the end of lunch.

"Later," Jack was already halfway out the door. "I gotta go to Spanish class."

Spot furrowed his brow. Since when did Jack _hurry_ to Spanish class? Then he remembered from one of his ramblings. David was in that class. Asshole. As he watched Jack slip out the door, he mentally pledged that he would have Jack Kelly no matter what. No. Matter. What.

--

Dutchy sometimes wondered how he got where he was. He was the newest initiate to the little group of pretension and he knew that, outside of Snitch, he fit in the least. He wasn't pompous or arrogant or incredibly knowledgeable of British sports. Fuck, up until the last semester of sophomore year, he was what one would call a wild child. He would trip on acid and go skipping down Broadway. He would take ecstasy and hitchhike to the George Washington Bridge to sneak into the Little Red Lighthouse and read the same titled book which still made him cry—sober or otherwise—when he read it. He would purposely "swallow the worm" from the mescal he'd sneak from his best friend's house just to see what it would do to him. He'd dance in the moonlight on the Brooklyn Bridge, yelling out non-sequitors to anyone or anything who happened to be below it in the water. He'd hitch to Jersey and attend three parties before waking up in a puddle of his own vomit. Once, he had even snuck into Coney Island during the winter when it was closed and swung from the Ferris wheel yelling like a monkey. If his father wasn't the notoriously cheap Dutchman he was, Dutchy would've been sent to military school faster than Ted Logan from his all-time favorite movie. In fact, the only thing keeping Dutchy from certain death—either by being forced to cut his treasured blonde locks at military school or by overdose—was his best friend Mark. Mark had been given the nickname Specs by Jack—then Francis—way the hell back in first grade. If Dutchy was insane, hyper and in need of Ritalin, Specs was calmer, more collected and claimed to live vicariously through Dutchy's escapades. Dutchy was also fairly certain that he was in love with Specs. He was even more certain that Specs loved him back. However, his lame-ass fundamentalist parents—who claimed that if Specs hung around with Dutchy too much, he'd be on the straight and narrow path to Hell—didn't want their son to be gay nor to hang out with a gay boy who was as insane as Dutchy was. Thus, when they realized that they were going to get together, which they _so_ were, they packed up to Boston. Just like that. They left their entire lives in Manhattan just to keep their son from falling in love with a boy. A stupid move, he knew, since moving your son to a different town—ironically, to the state where gay marriage was _legal_—just so he wouldn't be gay. It was like moving to Alabama or some other stupid hick state so you wouldn't be black. It was trying to change something unchangeable. But, as it stood, Dutchy lost the love of his life. Lost, he stopped doing much of anything and the empty threat of military school soon faded. It completely disappeared when Dutchy started hanging around with Bumlets and Pie Eater who, in his parents' eyes, were the epitome of adolescent perfection. His parents, thankfully, didn't care that he was gay as long as he was happy. However, his former escapades were _quite_ another story. So that was how he ended up pretending to be an arrogant git to forget the loss of his love. Tragic…and completely stupid.

"Earth to Palanski!" Snitch hissed into his ear.

Dutchy shook his head and blinked his eyes behind his glasses. "What?"

"Madam Bouvier is giving you the stink-eye," he whispered. "You were zoning out."

Dutchy smiled sheepishly. Snitch was the only one who got to see him like this…how he really was. He also knew Snitch wasn't the type to hold it against him.

"Oh."

Madam Bouvier, who was all talk and no action, went back to lecturing the class on the superiority of European roads to American ones. Dutchy pretended to pay attention and made it look like he was by tapping his pencil and looking at her while nodding his head with squinted eyes. It was a move he had honed to perfection during his goof-off days in middle school and teachers never failed to buy it. That is, until he sneezed. It was a little tickle as if a little elf climbed up his face and tickled his nose. Dutchy's nose twitched and he let out one, two, three explosive sneezes. Snitch gave him a significant look.

"God bless you," he said with a smile.

--

"So, Dave, how's about it?" Jack asked during their work period in Spanish.

Work period was after the teacher gave them their worksheets, which was basically an excuse for the class to start talking amongst themselves.

"You mean…" David's cheeks heat up in a cute way.

Jack smiled and nodded. David's adorable blue eyes flit across the room as if to make sure no one was looking.

"Um…okay?" it sounded like a question.

Jack was a bit more than disappointed. David was agreeing to be his first official boyfriend—meaning, not someone he casually fucked—and he was acting like Jack was asking him to cheat on a test.

"Okay?" he pouted.

David looked away and Jack smelled certain victory. No one could avoid his pout. It was how he had gotten many a college student into bed with him sophomore year.

"I mean, I've never…"

"I know, Dave. You've never been with a boy before."

David shook his head and blushed deeper. Jack watched in fascination as his cheeks turn a rather fetching shade of pink.

"I mean, I've never been with _anyone_ before," he bit his lip.

Jack nearly had a cavity at the sweetness. It was sweet—albeit lame—that David was not only an ass-virgin but a virgin-virgin as well.

"Well, David," he smiled. "Those days are over."

David looked up at him and smiled back but the blush was still there.

"Sin-your Hyack, Sin-your Dah-veed!" the wannabe Spanish teacher clapped her rhinestone-spackled hands together. "_¡Trabajas ahora!_"

"_Sí_," they answered in unison and went back to their worksheets.

Jack eyed David as he pretended to care about what Lupé and Guillermo were doing on the worksheet. He was still blushing. Jack liked how he had that effect on him. He liked it a lot.

--

Sarah held the CD in her hands with a wide-eyed look. It was a Sarah McLachlan CD. Strangely, it was the one she lost in the move from Chester. It had somehow magically appeared in her locker. Well, not magically. There was definite evidence that her little gray rectangular prism of a locker had been broken into. She wondered who gave it to her or who even knew that she liked Sarah McLachlan.

"Hey!" a voice jarred her from her mystery.

Sarah turned to see two boys—presumably juniors—standing behind her. One was pretty cute with big brown eyes and brown hair under a gray and yellow ski cap. The other one had large eyes as well but he had a kind of creepy smile as if it just crawled up from the ground and settled on his face.

"Yes?" she asked, wondering if one of them had given her the CD.

Creepy Smile Boy rubbed a finger under his nose and sniffled. Obviously, he had a cold.

"We wanna talk to you about something," Cute Boy explained. "Actually, _he_ wants to talk to you about something. I'm here because I have no life."

He smiled and Sarah couldn't help but smile back. She really hoped that Cute Boy had given her the CD.

"Your brother," Creepy Smile Boy began. "Is it true that he's going out with Jack Kelly?"

Sarah quirked a brow. "David? Um, I don't think so."

Creepy Smile Boy's smile got bigger. "Score! I'm so in there. I told you he was single, Jake!"

Cute Boy—Jake, evidently, cute name for a cute boy—rolled his eyes.

"She obviously doesn't know yet, Snoddy," he said reasonably. "It just happened last period."

"Uh, guys," Sarah smiled politely. "My brother's straight."

The two exchanged a significant look.

"She hasn't heard yet," Jake whispered.

Now she was getting curious.

"Heard what?"

Jake bit his lip. "I don't really know you so maybe I'm not the one to—"

"Jack and David totally boned each other Friday night!" Snoddy exclaimed.

Jake smacked him in the back of the head and put a finger to his lips to signal him to shut his hole. Sarah was aghast. Her brother had sex…with a _guy_! No way. The two boys had to be misinformed.

"My brother's straight," she repeated.

"Yeah," Snoddy giggled. "And I'm Mary Queen of Scots."

Jake shook his head. "What he means that there is a very low percentile of straight guys in the school and, if what we heard is true, your brother isn't one of them. Believe me, I'd know. I'm one of the few straight ones in school. I have straightdar. You know, like gaydar only with straight people. Your brother sits next to me in Bio. I know."

Sarah held the CD to her heart as if shielding its frantic beating from the two boys. Suddenly, the search for her mystery-CD-giver seemed obsolete. She had a real problem on her hands if what they were saying was true. She went to say something but the dreadfully timed bell cut her off.

"Oh, shit!" Snoddy pouted. "We're gonna be late for home ec!"

He started dragging Jake away who was complaining about him signing him up for the class. Sarah stared after them for a while, eyes wide. So much information to drink in. Was it true? Was David gay?


	6. It's Called an Okapi, Asshole

"So that's why people should believe in Bigfoot and Nessie and all the other cryptids," Mush said, trailing his French fry through a puddle of ketchup on his hamburger wrapper. "Because there were actual animals people thought were made up or extinct and they turned out to be real. Like, if the Coelacanth is real, why not Mokele-Mbembe?"

Blink nodded his head, having heard his justification for why he was obsessed with cryptozoology many a time before. It meant that someone had been giving him crap about it during the day. Some people were just asses.

"Yeah," Blink nodded again. "Their mascot is that thing that looks like it's wearing zebra pants, right?"

Mush looked offended which consisted of him pulling his cute little puppy-dog face into a pouty look.

"It's called an okapi," he corrected.

Blink held his hands up, palms out as if to say 'Oh, _excuse_ me'. Mush then smiled; he rarely stayed pissed for very long. It was one of the things that made their relationship work. He went to say more when he noticed someone stride into the McDonalds and get in line. Son of a bitch, what was he doing here? Of course, Pie Eater always came here for McDonalds's should-be-radioactive apple pies. Well, maybe if Blink played his cards right, he wouldn't notice him and Mush. Plus, he was alone and—

Like clockwork, Dutchy and Bumlets walked in after him. All three snouts of Cerberus present and accounted for. Terrific. Idly, he wondered why Skittery wasn't with them. Blink wondered what he should do. Should he sink lower in the plastic booth? No, that was way too obvious. Just ignore them. He looked pointedly at Mush and gestured with his head in a way to show him not to draw any attention to the to of them. The last thing he needed after a Monday at school was to be berated and treated like an old, discarded sales receipt.

"Hey, guys!" Mush waved happily.

Blink blanched. He had misread his signal entirely. Dutchy started to wave but then thought better of it. Bumlets and Pie Eater ignored him. Good. That was good. Ignoring him was good. When they paid attention was when the Incredible Hulk in him rose to the surface.

--

Sarah lay on her bed with her eyes closed, listening to "Building a Mystery" over and over again. Who gave it to her? Who at the school knew that she liked Sarah McLachlan outside of David? She highly doubted that her brother would go through the trouble of breaking into her locker to deliver a CD. Did this mean she had a secret admirer? She vaguely recalled the phone call Friday night. She had presumed it to be a prank but maybe it was the same guy. Some guy who wanted to ask her out.

"Sarah?" David's voice made her turn off the stereo and sit up.

Oh, yeah. She still had that little issue to tend to.

"David, I heard about the rumors," she said.

His eyes widened in her doorway.

"I had no idea you were—"

She was cut off by David slamming the door.

"Shhh!" David hissed. "I don't want mom and dad to know."

"So it's true?"

He started pacing. "…Yes. I mean, what, two days—not counting the weekend—in a new school and I'm already gay. I guess what they say about the school is true. The thing is, I didn't even _do_ anything with Jack. I mean, I guess he's not promoting or disproving the rumors that we…you know but it's just so…"

His voice trailed off and he gave Sarah a pitiful look.

"So you two didn't…"

"No!" he yelled but then quieted. "No, we didn't do anything. But we are, um, going out or whatever. He asked me."

Sarah smiled. It was cute, actually. David and that super-popular boy Jack going out. She hugged him and felt his shoulders relax as she did so.

"Don't tell mom," he whispered. "Or dad."

"Of course," she whispered back.

They pulled back.

"Okay, that was way too _Full House_ for me," David announced.

"Definitely," Sarah agreed.

--

Oscar had no idea who he was laying on. He vaguely knew her from his Biology class but her name escaped him. Natalie? Natasha? Nicole? Wasn't it something with an 'N'? Either way, she didn't seem to care that he couldn't remember her name. He had picked her up before he left school that day much in the same way someone would stop by the grocery store and pick up milk on their way home.

She dug her fingernails into his back so hard, Oscar wondered if the acrylic tips of her nails would pop off and stick straight up in his skin. He wondered how she could do anything with those nails. They weren't even a good _color_. They were this gross plum color with rhinestones in it. How impractical was that? He wondered if they were active length. His much more practical aunt—as opposed to his should-be-in-_Goodfellas_ mother—wore active length. This girl's nails could've been active length…for a _stripper_. Oh, shit. He was supposed to be having sex and he was thinking about her _nails_ for Christ's sake!

"Oscar," she moaned into his ear before leaning back and expecting him to moan hers as they did it.

"Baby," he tried and she seemed to accept it.

Problem was, his mind kept wandering: to what chores he'd have to do tonight, to his homework assignments, even to his pending midterms that were months away. He couldn't concentrate on sex. He had tried in the beginning but Random Slut Girl kept turning into that one kid from his dream and there was no way he was going to chance it happening and have himself moaning _his_ name instead. She arched her back into him and they continued their romp. Oscar leaned down into her and closed her eyes, images of Skittery popping up into his head as he did so.

--

Spot sucked on a Tootsie pop, leaning back in his chair at the Wendy's. He watched Racetrack dipping his French fries into his Frosty or whatever that reconstituted cup of lard was referred to. If he watched Racetrack, he wouldn't have to look at Jack, which meant that he didn't have the need to punch anyone in the crotch. He had _asked out David_. Jack didn't do boyfriends. Jack did random, hot guys casually. Now he was saying how great David was and how it felt good be in a relationship. Relationship…the two screw once and Jack was hounding for a relationship. That thought alone made Spot's stomach twist so badly that it made eating nearly impossible. Not that he wanted to eat anything. Wendy's may be a step up from the other fast food restaurants but it was still a fast food restaurant.

"You want?" Race offered him a Frosty-dipped fry.

Spot most definitely did _not_ want but he took it in some lame hope that him sharing a French fry with Race would make Jack jealous. But no, his eyes were more glazed than a donut as he chewed his hamburger, his mind obviously filled with thoughts of David. Spot swallowed the fry best he could and stuck his lollipop back into his mouth to hide his scowl.

"Spot, you've been quiet since lunch, what gives?" Race asked.

Spot just shrugged and kept sucking on his lollipop.

"You're not talking and that scares me," he laughed.

He felt a smile almost break through but he wouldn't allow it. He sucked on the lollipop harder. As he did so, some perverted part of his mind was wishing that it was Jack instead of chocolate in an orange, artificially flavored globe.

--

"Please, that is such a hyperbole," Bumlets rolled his eyes. "There is no way the oil spill in the Sound was the worst tragedy of the nineties. Besides, that was 1989 anyway."

"I still think it was horrible what happened," Pie Eater argued.

"Yes, it was sad, but it wasn't the worst thing. As the playwright Vladimir…"

Blink resisted the urge to pound his head repeatedly into the table. Once Pie Eater had gotten his, well, pie the three snouts had migrated over to Blink and Mush. It was torture. It suddenly dawned on him why he was only half-blinded in the car crash. _This_ was how he was going to die. He was going to die while partaking in a bizarre sitcom cross between _Saved by the Bell _and _Frasier_.

"I agree with Pie Eater," Mush said. "It not only hurt the animals but it hurt the sea serpent living in the Sound."

Now, if it had only been Blink, he would've smiled and asked Mush to continue about the Prince Edward sea monster. However, the other three just laughed.

"Oh, that's too much!" Bumlets laughed.

"It's…plebian," Dutchy added.

Mush blushed and stared down into his ketchup-smeared wrapper. Blink glared at them. What right did they have to make fun of him?

"Blink," Bumlets dead-eyed him. "Query, what's your opinion on the whole matter?"

As their eyes met, Blink remembered when they were all little kids in preschool and Bumlets would run around with any stick he'd find on the ground, claiming to be a knight. He wondered what happened to that boy as he looked at the horribly assholish one sitting across from him.

"Hmmm," he tapped his chin. "I don't know but…"

Blink leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, smiling.

"There _is _something I've been _dying_ to know," he said almost brightly. "Bumlets, I'm just wondering, how _is_ the weather up there on your high horse?"

With that, he grabbed Mush and started to leave the restaurant.

"At least my boyfriend isn't obsessed with a society that has a goat-giraffe as their mascot!" Dutchy yelled almost juvenilely after them.

_At least I _have_ a boyfriend_, Blink wanted to say. Instead, he tried something else.

"It's called an okapi, asshole!" he shot back and shoved through the door.

--

David swallowed and took a deep breath before he walked into school Tuesday morning. Several boys from his class were already looking at him. So word about he and Jack had spread. Of course it had. Jack was, apparently, the ruler of the school. It was like he had school paparazzi following him and everyone seemed to know. Of course, most of the rumors got blown out of proportion and whatnot.

This wasn't the kind of impression he wanted to make on the third day at a new school but if he had to be at any school and be…well…himself, it was good that it was the school known as Homo High.

"David!" Skittery ran over to him. "Hey. Is it true?"

Rather than look up to meet his gaze, David stared at the black and white picture of Billy Joel on his t-shirt and nodded.

"Wow," Skittery muttered. "You're the first guy to get Jack to settle down. In three days time too, I'm impressed."

He then broke out into a song David guessed to be by Aqua—he had said that they were his other obsession—about bees and flowers that was overtly sexual. David had to smile. He genuinely liked Skittery. Plus, he was the only person who really talked to him chronically throughout the day. The two started walking to Denton's class.

"So," Skittery started. "You wanna hear what sucks? Dutchy calls me last night, right? And he starts saying how Bumlets said that Pie Eater said that I have to pick either them or Blink because, apparently, Blink is a horrible influence on me or some garbage. So now I have to pick between my friends and the boy I've known since before I could hold a pencil."

David nodded, glad for the distraction from his own life. "Pick your best friend. I mean, if they want you to choose then they aren't your friends."

"Ugh, after-school special much, David?" Skittery rolled his eyes but he was smiling.

--

Morris felt the _Mission Impossible_ theme running through his head as he snuck by her locker once more. He had no idea why he had such a fixation on her—maybe it was the fact that she didn't spread her legs on sight of a boy like the other girls—but he couldn't stop thinking of her. He had even downloaded the songs from her favorite bands last night, charging his father a pretty penny on his credit card. For the most part, it was angry chick music but he found himself liking the Barenaked Ladies.

Once again, he used a screwdriver to jimmy open her locker. This time it was much easier since he had done it once before. Then he slipped in a CD he had burned for her. Okay, maybe this was dorky and stupid and he usually beat up boys that did these kind of things but—

Shit, she was coming. He shoved the screwdriver into the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt and ducked into the boys' bathroom before he could be spotted. Ha, he could be a secret agent any day. Pierce Brosnan eat your heart out. As he stood in the bathroom, the _Mission Impossible_ theme song running in his head turned into the James Bond theme and he couldn't help it. Once that song popped into his head, he _had_ say it.

Morris checked the stalls for any underclassmen and put the screwdriver in his backpack because who knew when a pissed off teacher would search his pockets for a weapon. Then, still mentally humming the theme song, he turned to mirror.

"The name's Bond," he told his reflection. "James Bond."

Then juvenile laughter ripped through his body that was quickly silenced by the entrance of Kelly and his little goats—because they weren't good enough to be sheep. Morris picked up his backpack and shoved past them.

"Watch it," Higgins shouted after him. "I don't want to get guido on me!"

His response was giving him the finger as he pushed out the door.

--

Skittery chomped hard on the piece of bubblegum in his mouth. The sweetness coated his tongue but the sweetness was long gone and the gum tasted bitter. Still, he chewed until his jaw ached, watching him. It was perverse, almost, how he was staring. Just watching him lean back in the desk and secretly listen to his Discman—which, Skittery knew for a fact, had a big metallic sticker of Flik from _A Bug's Life_ on the back—while pretending to care about the beetles fighting for dominance in the video. The video, on its own, was pretty shitty. There was a heartwarming scene in the beginning in which they showed the woman kissing the man…from the lovely vantage point of _inside the man's mouth_.

"Bug porn!" Snoddy yelled suddenly from behind him as the announcer explained that the winning beetle got the female bug.

Skittery tore his gaze from Oscar to see the two, computer animated elephant beetles humping each other. He started laughing into his palm before going back to looking at him. He was laughing at the bugs but probably couldn't hear a thing with his music blaring. Skittery could almost make out the words to the song, it was so loud.

"Bird porn!" Snitch added, pointing to two doves sitting side by side.

Sure enough, the one bird hopped on another and started going at it. The boys in the class—there were, in fact, no girls in third period bio—started cackling. Mr. Seiks gave them a glare but even he was smiling.

A shot later, they showed one of the doves dead.

"Aww," Snitch cooed.

Oscar hit pause on his Discman. "No worries. He's probably just tired from all the sex."

And the laughter began again. Skittery watched him again, chewing his gum harder. The comment was one of the few, semi-nice things he had ever said. He liked when he was semi-nice and he _definitely_ liked when he made jokes. He cursed his luck for falling for a straight boy. Cursed it as he watched the pigtailed girl skipped around a field of grass while the narrator droned on about the dangers of the meadow. Stupid meadow. Stupid hormones.


	7. Vampire Frat Boy Cannibals? Oh, my

Mush jumped up and down on Blink's bed, looking much like an eight-year-old. He loved spending time in Blink's apartment almost as much as he loved playing soccer or rereading _Cryptozoology A-Z_ (which was the only book that could hold his interest). He loved the smallness of it and how it was crowded. His own apartment was crowded too but with all of his dad's stage props that used to scare him. His dad made props for plays and kept all of the extras and stuff at their house. Mush used to hate having to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night when he was little because who knew what he was going to bump into?

He bounced once more on the bed before jumping down and landing on his socked feet. When he was at Blink's house, he rarely left the bedroom. The two of them spent a lot of time in the bed. He blushed just thinking about it. This time, though, they weren't going to have sex because Blink's best friend Skittery was over for the first time in a while and that would just be rude. Mush blushed again when he thought of sex. The thought still made him giggle like a little kid and blush and stuff. It seemed strange, looking at him, to tell that he was what Blink called a sensuality-addict. He was nervous at first but he liked sex. It was like eating chocolate and watching cartoons and scoring a goal and finding the Yeti all in one.

Mush padded into the living room to find Skittery and Blink watching another one of those really bad horror movies they made fun of. He didn't much care for them because of the horrible portrayal of a misunderstood cryptid in that movie _Chupacabra_. But Blink and Skittery consumed them like handfuls of M&Ms just so they could mock them. It was kind of cute to watch Blink because he smiled and Mush liked it when he smiled.

"So what's this one about again?" Skittery asked. "Vampire cannibals?"

"Vampire _frat boy_ cannibals," Blink corrected.

Mush sat next to him on the couch and Blink put his arm around him.

"Wait," Skittery shook his head. "Aren't vampires separate from humans since vampires sucking blood isn't considered cannibalism? What makes them cannibals? Do they eat other vampires?"

"And that, my friend, is what makes this such a bad movie," Blink kissed the remote and leaned back.

Mush smiled at him and decided that he'd watch the movie. Besides, some of the things he and Skittery said were really funny.

--

"One minute I'm in Central Park!" Jack sang loudly.

"Then I'm down on Delancey Street!" Racetrack added.

"Hop the bowery to St. Marks! There's a syncopated beat!" Spot finished.

David sat in the back of the Aerostar, smiling. Even though Spot had been silent pretty much all day and David was pretty sure he was giving him dirty looks, he was joining in on belting out the Disney song. He recognized the song only vaguely from the movie _Oliver and Company_.

"Better not let Skittery hear us," Race laughed.

"Why not?" David asked.

Spot turned from the passenger seat and rolled his eyes.

"Because Billy Joel sings it," he said it like everyone should know it already. "He was the voice of Dodger in _Oliver and Company_."

"Oh."

Jack gave Spot a glare and the two stared at each other for a while without speaking. It was like they were speaking some mental language. Finally, Spot backed down and faced forward. David kind of liked that Jack could boss people around since it kept him from being picked on…at all. It was like wearing a bulletproof vest now that he was dating Jack. Dating. That was a funny word. David had never been dating with anyone. There were girls, yes, that he took to dances and girls that he went to the movies with back in Chester but he had never had a girlfriend. He _still_ had never had a girlfriend but now he had a boyfriend. One that he apparently got to second base with. Three days—five counting the weekend—and he was a whole new person. He glanced back at the school as Jack started to pull the ancient van into traffic. Spot had been right. The school _did_ turn you.

--

Jake wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed but after two years in HH, he knew the hierarchy and he knew the score. He was the kind of conquer the land and leave it desolate. At least, that's what his friends back in Louisiana said. None of which, by the way, have called him since he moved after freshmen year. He liked sex. It was obvious. He was sixteen and he had a penis. Therefore, he liked sex. He also liked girls and was one of the few boys in school who did. No one ever noticed that since his best friend, Snoddy, might as well replace Sean Hayes on _Will and Grace_. They all just assumed he was gay as well. It was a real drag to see the look of surprise on a girl's face when he hit on her.

Despite his straightdom, he noticed everything about the "other half" and how they lived and who they liked. It started when he moved there as a way to make sure they didn't get hurt by, say, getting a crush on him and turned into a finely honed skill. He knew that Skittery wanted to bone Oscar DeLancey. He knew that Snitch had a thing for Dutchy. He knew Mush liked Blink long before Blink even started talking to him. There was also certain information he held that would a gossip goldmine. Information that no one except him knew. He noticed it ages ago at the end of sophomore year. At a party in Brooklyn. And he knew how to make himself exempt from any insults Spot could throw at him. He knew that Spot liked Jack. He also knew that Jack didn't like him back. Their trifecta was a precarious chess game, Jake had noticed—hell, maybe he should become a psychologist or something—and one wrong move could ruin everything. If Spot made a move on Jack, especially now with his apparent undying love for the new kid, Jack would not only demote him and promote Race, he'd kick Spot out and make him wish that he just went to school in Brooklyn. Jake wondered if there was something wrong with him, watching people like they were animals at the zoo but it kept him preoccupied when Snoddy prattled on about wanting to bang Christian Bale and "don't you think Jack looks like him?" and other trivial stuff that secured his place in the gayest of the gay hall of fame.

--

Pound, pound, leap, turn, dodge, turn, jab, pound, jab. Pound, pound, leap, pound, jab, dodge, turn, jab. It was all in the footwork. Oscar thrust his arms out and hit the sack with such intensity that it hurt him through the gloves. He was imagining wailing on himself for those stupid impure thoughts he was having. Granted, he could've been imagining himself hitting Skittery but he wasn't thinking straight. No pun intended.

"Jesus," Morris remarked. "What's with you?"

Oscar let his arms drop to his sides and glared at him. How dare he interrupt him when he was pissed?

They were in a cheap Gold's Gym not far from their apartment building. Oscar had suggested it as an excuse to actually do something when, really, he needed to vent. Most people vented with words or writing, Oscar Vincent DeLancey vented with violence. He didn't really know why Morris was there other than him being his ride. Oscar figured it was asinine to get a license in a place like New York where one could walk or take the subway. The fact that he failed his driving test by running over seven cones had _nothing_ to do with it.

"I'm pumped," he explained. "Energy and endorphins and all that shit."

"Uh-huh," Morris leaned back and stretched his arms over his head. "So…what do you think Sarah's favorite color is? I'm guessing blue. She seems like the type to like blue."

Oscar rolled his eyes. What his brother's fucking obsession with that girl? He doffed the gloves and went over to his backpack where a bottle of Zephyr Hills was coldly waiting for him. After he swallowed, he looked at his brother.

"Every girl who doesn't like pink likes blue," he rolled his eyes again. "Unless they like green or purple."

Morris gave him a 'huh?' look. Man, he was so clueless. Oscar pulled the gloves back on, squeezing his hands past where he had tied them. He then began to pound on the punching bag again, picturing each jab and slam was a blow to his own head.

--

Sarah couldn't believe that the guy had struck again. He had delivered another CD, this time a home-burned mix, to her locker. It was one of the sweetest things someone had ever done for her. The only thing that creeped her out was that they knew her tastes eerily well. As Tori Amos wailed softly from her speakers, she looked at the writing of the tracks on a plain white label. The handwriting was kind of slanted and a little crowded. It was smudged from being written in pencil and some words were misspelled. It was typical boy handwriting. She held the jewel case to her chest and fell back on her bed.

"Whoa, am I interrupting something?" Sarah sat up to see a grinning boy standing in her doorway. She had forgotten to close it.

Quickly, she hit pause on her stereo and looked up at him. She knew him or, rather, knew _of_ him. It was Jack Kelly, king of the school. It was also Jack Kelly, boyfriend of her brother. With that smile on his face and the dark blonde hair and those eyes, it was very easy to see why David turned. Jack was a solid nine point five on the basic one to ten rating scale, earning bonus points for the fact that his features weren't classical.

"Hey," she smiled. "Sorry. Someone, er, gave this to me."

"Someone meaning boy?"

"Yeah," she felt herself blush.

"Who is it?" Jack took a step into her room.

Sarah bit her lip but before she could answer, Jack piped up.

"You and David both do that. It's cute…although, no offense, but it's cuter on him."

"None taken," she held up her hand. "What I was saying was…I don't know the guy. This is the second CD he's given me."

Jack nodded. "Cool. I could—"

He stopped as the sound of a toilet flushing came from the next room.

"You could what?" Sarah leaned forward, eager for information.

He waved a hand. "Later. I'll be right back."

He quickly exited her room and wrapped his arms around David's waist just as he came into the hall. Sarah watched them and couldn't help but feel jealous. Why couldn't _she_ have that with somebody?

--

David put his hands behind Jack's head and let them rest there. It was strange, how easy things were. How easy it was to—soberly—let Jack kiss him and make his cheeks heat up from something that wasn't a faulty air conditioner. This was…this was real. The kissing, the body pressed over every inch of him with the feet dangling over the arm of the couch. It was real and it was…deep. David had had one—very disappointing—kiss before Jack. It was with his fifth grade girlfriend Hannah Ortega. They had been sitting in the computer room during a particularly hot recess and he asked her if she wanted a kiss and she had said 'Okay'. Then David had leaned forward and put a little pinched kiss on her lips. Not exactly earth shattering and amazing but it was kind of his first kiss. But Jack, this was like amazing. His head was swimming so much from the kisses that he couldn't properly form thoughts that made sense and—

"Kids, I brought dinner!"

Without thinking, David shoved Jack off of him quickly.

"Oof!"

Jack's back slammed into the coffee table as David leapt over the back of the couch to greet his mother.

"Hey, mom," he said overly brightly.

He wondered if there were telltale marks on him: hickeys, bruised or chapped lips, anything.

"David, is someone over?"

"Just my friend Jack."

Jack stood up shakily and waved at her.

"Hello," his mother held up a bag of Chinese take-out. "Jack, would you like to stay for dinner?"

His eyes widened at the food but he shook his head.

"No thanks, Mrs. Jacobs, "he said with a smile. "I should probably get going. Besides, I'm not that hungry."

Jack made his way around the couch and as he passed David, he leaned into him.

"At least not for food," he whispered as he did.

David felt himself blush as he watched Jack's retreating rear go out the apartment door, swinging purposely from side to side.

--

"Monday, Monday," Mush sang happily as he held Blink's hand in his own.

Blink gave his boyfriend a quizzical look. "Mush, it's Wednesday."

Skittery giggle-snorted into his palm.

"I _know_ it's Wednesday but that song's been stuck in my head for awhile now."

Blink smiled and pulled him closer. He was about to say something but—as it often happened—Dutchy came veering around the corner. He grabbed Skittery's forearm and dragged him away.

"Ooh, mystique," Blink rolled his eyes.

"He could've said 'hi,'" Mush pouted.

Blink turned and kissed the pout away. He wasn't usually one for public displays of affection but he didn't want attention to linger on Dutchy for too long.

"Who cares if he greets us?" Blink asked. "He probably was dispatched from Cerberus to make sure that I don't corrupt Skittery anymore."

Mush furrowed his brow and looked at him. "What? Oh, yeah. I keep thinking you mean the _actual_ Cerberus."

Blink gave his hand a squeeze. He loved him but sometimes Mush _really_ had a hard time telling the difference between fact and fiction. It was one thing to believe in the chupacabra and quite another to believe in an actual Cerberus.

"Mush, Cerberus is mythological."

"No, he was an actual dog but it was a birth defect so local farmers called him Cerberus," Mush insisted. "I read it on a site."

Blink shook his head but was glad that all attention from Dutchy and his stupid anger had been diverted. Last thing he needed was a bite on the ass from Cerberus.

--

"What is your damage, Heather?" Skittery crossed his arms and gave Dutchy an impatient look.

He wasn't in the mood to deal with any friend angst. His father was on the warpath about how his insurance was going to stop paying for Skittery's medication and he was _not_ a happy camper. If tempted, he was going to _act out_ a scene from the movie he had just quoted. And Dutchy was definitely leading him into that temptation.

"I thought—"

"I'm not picking," Skittery cut him off. "That's asinine."

"I…" Dutchy lowered his gaze, veneer gone. "Okay, I don't care. I don't even think Bumlets or Pie care. They just don't like Blink."

"They or we?"

"They. I couldn't care less about him," he shrugged.

"Fantastic," Skittery deadpanned. "Nice to know—"

Dutchy cut him off. "Listen, man. I have to tell you something that only Snitch knows so you'll know not to cop a 'tude with me. I ain't like them."

Skittery looked him straight in the eyes and smirked.

"Seriously. You heard about the shit I used to pull," Dutchy insisted. "And I hate this pretentious shit. So…yeah. That's why I don't care about Blink. Anyway…just don't tell them about it. They _really_ don't like him."

Skittery rolled his eyes and followed him. Jesus, some people.


	8. Crazy for Feeling so Lonely

Axl Rose was crooning loudly on the stereo in Spot's room as he sat by himself, reading _The Jungle_. It was for his report for Denton's class. _Regular_ English had just gotten their book review assignment. The AP class had just finished theirs. This book was horrible but in a good way. Spot actually felt himself really feeling bad for the people, especially the little boy whose ear fell off from the cold. He also thought that "Welcome to the Jungle" would help get him in the mood but, like most Guns'n'Roses songs, it just gave him a headache. Spot switched to the next song, not quite knowing what it was. It was a burned CD Jack had given him for his last birthday but he had forgotten to write the tracks on it. Either way, it was still his most favorite CD that he owned even though he hadn't listened to it in a while. The air filled with a very creepy rendition of Patsy Cline's "Crazy". Spot recognized the band and let his jaw drop. Jack had put a song by the Kidney Thieves on the CD? Sure they were best friends but how did Jack know that they were his favorite band? Spot had never really told him much about his tastes so how could Jack have known? He hit stop on his stereo and put _The Jungle _down. It had to be a fucking sign.

Unfortunately, it wasn't like he could stroll into school unnoticed. He had taken a "personal day" to stew, listen to music and watch Mel Brooks movies on a continuous loop just so he wouldn't have to see Jack and David being all couple-y. He grabbed his phone to call in pretending to be his father once more when it started to ring on its own, belting out "La Bamba" which Spot had put on there when he bought the phone and never bothered to change.

"Hello?"

"Where the fuck are you?"

"Hey Race."

"Do you know how boring it is to sit through trig without you there?"

"No."

"Well, me neither. I'm cutting."

Spot shook his head, laughing silently. Now _this_ was why Race was in their little clique. He always had a way to make them laugh.

"So where are you? People have been asking and you know how these fuckers are with gossip," Spot could almost see Race shaking his own head with pity for the unwashed masses of the school. "So far, you have AIDS, herpes and all matter of other icky STDs. Some kids are talking about organizing a rally for ya. This is like fucking _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_!"

"I'm at home," Spot replied. "I'm…"

He used his free hand to plug his nose before speaking again.

"I'b sick," he coughed a few times. "I hab da flu."

"Jesus, you sound bad. What's wrong?"

"Feber, duffed up doze, da usual."

Spot added a cough and an 'uuuuugh' for emphasis.

"You gonna be okay? I could skip the rest of the day and bring soup over or something."

He was actually pretty touched by that. Although he figured that Race just thought that he owed him something since they _did_ have their tongues down each other's throats Friday.

"No," Spot faked sniffled. "It's probably a twendy-four hour bug."

There was a small pause on the other line. Spot let his nose-plugging hand drop as he waited for Race to answer him.

"Well, okay. Feel better, man."

"Thanks," he forgot his sick voice. "Bye."

He closed the phone to end the conversation and hit play on his VCR. _Young Frankenstein_—which had been cued up beforehand—started playing after the initial whirring. Spot leaned back on his bed and started watching. He needed a good fucking laugh.

--

Skittery was walking to his fourth period alone. Not a single one of his friends had home ec fourth. The only people who he talked to were Jake Mathers and his weird best friend Snoddy. It was definitely not his favorite class. To add injury to injury, the teacher was talking about starting them on those lame baby projects. Meaning the ones where you had to cart around an infant-sized rubber doll and name it and take far of it and log in _everything_ _it did_ for two weeks. Skittery had been told that, when the baby cried, you had to jam a key in its back and hold it until it stopped. He remembered doing something like that vaguely in eighth grade with an egg. He had named his egg Fran even though it had been a boy. On the last day of the project, they were making those stay-drug-free-live-longer posters for anti-drug week in their homeroom and Skittery had put Fran's little basket on the table. He had no idea how it happened but somehow he went flying and fell on the hard floor of the classroom. There was a jagged cut around the top that nearly removed the entire top of Fran's head. On _the last day_, his baby had been scalped by scuffed linoleum. He had gotten a D on the project for putting his "baby" in harm's way.

Another reason Skittery hated the class was because Oscar was in it. It was bad enough that they shared bio but did they have to have a lame elective like home ec together too? It was almost too much. It hadn't been like that at the beginning of the year. Oscar had been in shop class until, as the rumor went, he threatened to take a jigsaw to a kid's head. The shop teacher—a cadaverous man named Mr. Kloppman—quickly had him reassigned to the only class with an opening. What made matters even _worse_ was that they were assigned to sit next to each other. The thought alone made Skittery's stomach knot up and twist and coil and do all sorts of things that it shouldn't naturally do.

"Hey Skitty," Jake's greeting jarred him from his frenzied thoughts.

Skittery waved as he took his seat. Thankfully, Oscar wasn't there yet. Maybe he was skipping fifth. He hoped that he was. Would save him the hard-on.

"Hey Jake," he replied.

Jake was in his usual gray and yellow ski cap. Snoddy was next to him, fixated on a glossy picture of Heath Ledger on the cover of the copy of _Cosmo Girl_ on his desk.

"They're heeeere," Jake said, sounding not unlike the creepy little girl from _Poltergeist_.

"Who're here?"

"The babies."

He pointed to the front of the classroom where a large cardboard box sat on the table. The bell rang and Ms. Larkson—who doubled as the drama teacher—stood up from her chair and went to the front of the room.

"Boys," she greeted the classroom. "And girl."

That new girl, David's sister, smiled self-consciously.

Skittery breathed a sigh of relief. Oscar wasn't going to be in class today. He wouldn't have to stop paying attention just so he could stare longingly at the side of his face while pretending not to watch him.

"We're about to embark upon a…well," she smiled past the students to the back of the classroom. "Mr. DeLancey, how nice of you to join us."

Mustering a mortified look from his shock, Skittery turned to see Oscar standing nonchalantly in the doorway.

"Alert the media," he rolled his eyes and sat down.

Skittery immediately felt his pulse quicken. Don't look. Don't look. Don't look. Don't—

He looked. And kept looking until his name was called to collect his new "baby".

--

Jack had David pinned against the wall with one hand while the other was on the small of his back, touching the warm skin beneath his t-shirt. David had been adorably nervous about PDA-ing in the middle of the hallway but Jack assured him that no one cared and that it happened all the time.

Their tongues were dueling for domination currently while David's hands rested on the back of Jack's neck. Jack tried to ignore David's obvious lack of tongue-technique as they made out. It was all stiff and pointed instead of relaxed. Of course, David had intimated that he had never had an actual tongue-kiss before Jack so he was willing to let it slide. But speaking of stiff…

Jack lifted his mouth away from David and smiled.

"Now, Davey, is that a pencil in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" he laughed softly.

He then watched his boyfriend's face turn that shade of pink again. He responded to the blush by continuing their make out session until Mr. Denton came out and gave them a warning for public macking. He did the wag of the finger thing but Denton was too cool a teacher to give any student a detention for being halfway between first and second base in public. After he left, Jack tried to get the ball rolling again but was cut off by David's sister. Jesus, couldn't they get _any_ privacy when they tried to make out in the hall? He would've asked why Sarah was carrying a pale little baby doll in her arms but he was too steamed at not getting lip action to press. Oh, and he didn't care. That too.

"What?" David asked, a dreamy expression on his face.

_Fuck yeah, I put that look there_, Jack thought gleefully to himself.

"The guy visited my locker again," she held up a CD in her free hand for proof.

"What guy?" David seemed confused.

"Sarah's secret admirer," Jack explained.

David gave him a look that said how-the-hell-do-you-know? which Jack fielded with an innocent who-me? shrug.

"Jack, what were you saying that you could do last night?" she looked really hopeful.

Jack, however, just wanted to get back to making out with David. But helping his sister would probably earn him major credits with David, which would eventually make him want to have sex with him.

"I could check the handwriting," he offered. "But unless you had been at the school for awhile, that's all I can do."

Sarah sighed. "Crap."

She started to walk away before turning. "Oh, David. Mom wants us to come straight home after school. She's going to be out front."

David gave her the thumbs-up. It was all he _could_ do seeing that Jack had just stuffed his tongue into his mouth again.

--

Sarah put the newest CD into her backpack and shut her locker, cradling the baby in one arm. Not surprisingly, it popped back open. It had been broken into three times now and it was getting to be rather irksome. She pressed her hand on it and tried to keep it closed but the moment she let up, the door popped open again.

"Aw, man," she lamented.

"Here," someone from behind offered.

Before she could respond, the door was shut with a piece of paper lodged in the corner to make sure it stayed that way. Sarah turned to see who her mystery savior was. Maybe it was her supposed secret admirer.

Disappointment bubbled in her chest. It was just that guido-ape she ran into on the first day of school. What was his name again? It was some old name what began with an M wasn't it? Marcus? Maurice? Mork?

"Thanks," she muttered and started to walk away.

"You come out a night," he said suddenly.

Sarah turned. "What?"

"That's when the energy comes," he continued.

Before she could stop herself, she spoke. "And the dark side's light."

"And the vampires roam," the finished together.

Sarah bit her lip before speaking.

"That's 'Building a Mystery,'" she said rather obviously. "How did you—"

"I, uh, listened to it?" it came out like a question.

Jesus, this guy was even stupid than she thought. Then it dawned on her. _She_ was the stupid one. Mork or whatever had to be _the guy_.

"You're the one who was giving me CDs?" she asked, rather disbelievingly.

He smiled that weird, smirky smile she had seen last Friday.

"Yeah," he laughed. "I would've just given them to you but you don't seem to like me. You _did_ hang up and me and shit."

She laughed along with him. "Yeah…sorry about that. I thought it was a prank."

"Uh, well…it's not," he offered. "So, uh, do you want to go out or whatever. Like Friday?"

"Yes," she said without even thinking. "I mean…sure."

The smirk turned into an actual smile. "Great! I mean, cool. I don't usually ask girls out."

"Shy?"

"Something like that," he glanced at the ceiling tiles.

Sarah smiled but had no idea what to do next.

"Um…see you Friday?"

"After school good?"

She nodded and he started to leave. Then she remembered something.

"Wait!" he turned. "What was your name again?"

"Uh, Morris."

"Okay, Morris," she smiled. "See you Friday after school."

He smiled back—not a smirk—and left.

"That's going to be your new daddy," Sarah giggled to the doll who just stared by soullessly at her.

--

"Fuck yeah, asshole! I showed you!"

Oscar glanced up changing his fake-baby's diaper.

"Showed me how?" he stuffed the baby into his backpack so only the head stuck out.

"I asked her out," Morris seemed really proud of himself, like a little boy who just learned how to tie his own shoes. "And she said _yes_."

Oscar widened his eyes and tossed his backpack into the backseat. The baby started crying from the sudden jarring but he slammed the door, not giving a shit.

"Wow," he deadpanned. "You deserve, like, a prize for that."

Morris smacked him in the arm. "Hey, remember who keeps you from walking home, Oscar."

"_Touché_," Oscar noted.

Morris paused, hand about to put the key into the ignition. "What is that? Spanish or something?"

Oscar rolled his eyes. His brother was a complete moron.

"You're a wonder," he muttered.

--

"Welcome to insanity, can I take your order?" Blink muttered as he walked into his apartment.

He supposed that it was rather hypocritical for him to say that seeing that his best friend had gone through a complete breakdown and had tried to kill himself but Skittery bounced back. Blink's mother, however, hadn't. After Blink's dad died in that fateful accident, she became a total basketcase. Not Allison in _The Breakfast Club_ basketcase either. His mother was the holy-shit-get-that-woman-a-Prozac-drip-pronto kind of basketcase. She was always doting on him and crying all the time. Once, he came home from school to see her sobbing to _Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure_, which had been playing on Comedy Central. What made her insane, however, wasn't her pre-menopausal tears or the need to constantly hug him. It was when she had men over. She brought her several different boyfriends home and had sex with them all at the same time, screaming and eating candy between them. Once, she had tried to kill herself and Blink had to clean up all of the blood from the bathroom floor. The tile was now permanently stained.

"Alex sweetie, is that you?" she mewled from the couch, hand wrapped firmly around the stem of a martini glass.

"Yeah, mom," he dropped his backpack by the door. "Why are you home?"

"Victoria let me go early," she sniffled. "I don't think she likes me."

His mother had this horrible paranoia that everyone was out to get her except for Blink and whatever man she was sleeping with. Hell, she even thought that _Mush_ was out to get her and he freaked out when he stepped on a beetle.

"She likes you fine, mom," Blink said reasonably.

"Hmm…I'm glad you didn't bring that boy with you," she stated. "He doesn't like me."

"Mom, Mu—Dean likes everyone."

It was true. Mush even tolerated their asshole of a bio teacher Mr. Seiks.

"Not me" she declared, sucking on a green olive. "Are you sleeping with him Lexi?"

Lexi? Where had _that_ come from? Isn't that what you call a _girl_?

"Um…"

He left it at that and went into their little kitchenette to make himself a snack. He really didn't want to deal with his mother's irrational insecurities and knew that admitting that he was having sex would bring forth the fact that "her little baby was all grown up" and she'd start crying again and freak out that he was going to get AIDS or wind up somehow getting someone pregnant. He didn't understand the latter since, hello, he was _gay_.

"Ehmagawd!" her lethargic mewl turned into a full-on yowl. "You are! My little baby is going to leave me!"

She started crying, tears sliding into her martini. Blink went over to the couch and hugged her, promising that he'd never leave her but then she went on a rant about how he would have to go to college soon. An hour later, she had passed out from the amount of martinis she had had and Blink was alone in his room. He felt listless and unaware of what to do. Homework? Yeah, right. Call Mush? He said he had a family thing. Call Skittery? He was with Cerberus and Snitch. Blink felt utterly alone. It fucking sucked.


	9. I Know You're Thinking that I Don't

"Friday, I'm in love," Mush sang happily into Blink's ear.

Blink smiled at him. He loved when Mush sang even though he was doing a really bad impersonation of the pre-Bono lead singer of U2. The two were curled around each other, well almost on top of each other, in Blink's bed Friday after school. There was a party that night in some club in the upper eastside. But for now, they only had each other.

"Mmm," Blink mumbled. "Nice."

"I am," Mush said completely earnestly. "I am!"

"Yes," Blink said. "And I'm Mary Queen of Scots."

He rolled over and felt Mush running his fingers up and down his back. He closed his eyes and treasured it for a little while.

"Okay," Mush stopped. "Let's get ready for that party thingy."

Blink groaned and sat up. He hadn't wanted it to end. The two of them rose up in complete unison and started to pull their clothes on. Blink hesitated and took the time to stare at Mush's impressive physique and his soccer-muscled legs as he got changed. He felt his back—not to mention some other things—stiffen and heard Mush giggle.

"Stop staring," he giggled again.

Blink smiled. "I can't help it."

He glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "I like that."

"So do I, sweetie," he puckered his lips.

His smile widened. "I like when you call me sweetie. Because that's what they call the sheep-headed dog in Zanzibar."

Blink shook his head, ruffling his hair as he did so.

"And this is why I love you."

--

Jack had said party. Jack had _not_ said complete debauchery. David gawped at the scene in the club. He wasn't really one to gawp but this was seriously gawp-worthy. Some house music was playing and the kid who sat next to him in bio—Jake or something—had stripped off his shirt and was breakdancing in the middle of the club. Then some drunk girls from one of the fancy, single-sex private schools on the upper eastside thought it'd be a good idea to strip off _their_ shirts and try their hands at breakdancing.

It was one of those social-status-free parties. Dorks were mingling with A-listers and even Skittery's pretentious friends were out there. David had glanced around for Sarah to see if Mr. Spousal-Abuse had taken her there for their date but, thankfully, he hadn't seen hide nor hair (whatever _that_ meant) of them.

Jack snaked his arms around his waist and rocked his body a little to the side, lips on the curve of David's neck leading him to wonder if he had been a vampire in a former life. The touch sent shivers up his spine and he leaned back into Jack. It was weird, really, how easily he fell into sync. How he and Jack just fit together like two puzzle pieces. David felt Jack's hands on the button of his pants.

"Jack, no," he said firmly.

"Come on, Davey! Half the people in here are doing it," Jack rested his chin on his shoulder and pouted.

"I said no."

"In private?"

David's body tingled at the thought of being alone with Jack but he shook his head. Sex was so foreign to him…he didn't want to look like the big virgin dweeb when they did it.

"L-later," he managed, feeling a non-heat-related blush form on his cheeks.

Jack laughed and kissed his cheek. Still, his hands were unsafely on his crotch. David put his hands over his in an attempt to move them away. Jack responded to this by necking him. He stiffened. He could almost _see_ the telltale hickeys that would be on his skin the next day. God, his mother was going to have a heart attack when she saw him.

"Okay," he lifted those evil lips from his neck. "Then let's dance. At least let me dry hump you, Davey."

Before any objection could be uttered, Jack grabbed his hand and pulled him into the crush of people.

--

Blink didn't like parties all that much. For one, he had no idea when someone could come from the left and tackle him without him being able to see it. Something about the crush of drunken, sweaty bodies dancing seemed to be something menacing rather than enticing. Besides, the entire club scene was just a big farce. It was _supposed_ to be enjoyable and fun but Blink rarely found himself having a good time at them. He would much rather be at home, in bed, with Mush. In bed.

"Ooh," Mush widened his eyes. "This is like the tribal dance to summon—"

"Sweetie," Blink put a hand on his arm. "Not tonight."

He pouted but that quickly evaporated into a smile and he put his arms around Blink's waist, hands locked over the slight swell of muscle under Blink's navel. He moved a little to the side and rested his smiling head on his shoulder. Blink closed his eyes, trying to block out the shitty house music because, without it, this moment would be perfect.

"You know," Mush said thoughtfully. "I bet we look like the two-headed calf in Wyoming. I bet he's never lonely. Do you think he's ever lonely Blink?"

Blink opened his eyes, still seeing half of a world as he did so. He let a rush of air out of his lips.

"No…I don't think he is," he replied, trying to mask the disappointment in his words.

--

Sarah tried to hold her breath but it was proving to be difficult seeing that Morris hadn't removed his mouth from hers in the last five minutes. She didn't want to let out a stream of air into his face since it would be a total mood killer. She also didn't know if moving his hand off of her breasts would be a good idea either.

They had been leaning against the brick front of her apartment building and making out for some time now. Sarah couldn't believe that she actually had a guy who wanted to feel her breasts and make out with her.

"Wanna stop by my place?" he finally disengaged his mouth from hers and looked at her intently.

She knew what he was implying. Sex. Sex on the first date. She shook her head.

"No," she blushed. "No thanks."

He laughed. "Man, you're different from the other girls I've dated."

"Good different or bad different?"

He smirked. "I'm still figuring that one out."

With that, he attacked her lips once more.

--

"What is _this_?" Snitch's younger brother Daly held something up.

Snitch glanced up from the cardboard box he had been sorting through. Having declined going to some club for a party, he chose to stay at home and partake in the ever so fun job of sorting through the spare room in their apartment. The room hadn't been sorted—his mother never used the word cleaned since things got moved, not gotten rid of—since before twelve-year-old Daly had been born. Snitch himself couldn't even remember when it had last been sorted. It had to have been before his dad left them for secretary number one since his mother could never bring herself to look at anything that had his face on it.

What Daly was holding looked like ancient pliers. They could've been silver or even gray once but had rusted thoroughly to a brown color. Hell, they weren't even _rust_ colored they were so far gone. The semi-needle-nosed part was much smaller than on regular pliers and the handgrip was abnormally long.

"Obviously," Snitch replied. "It is an artifact of ancestral dentistry."

Daly gave him a 'huh?' look and Snitch went back to sorting.

"Doesn't ancestral mean family?" he asked. "Does that mean that dad was a dentist?"

Snitch didn't answer him. Their father had left them before Daly had been born.

"No idea, Dal," he muttered.

Thinking about his father made him depressed. So he decided to think happy thoughts: the _Friday the 13th _marathon on tomorrow night, for one. And…Jessica Alba. And…Dutchy. Snitch paused. Where had _that_ little thought come from? He chuckled into the box of homemade ornaments, shaking the thought away.

--

Spot had declined the party as well, deciding he'd rather hole himself up in his room and watch _Blazing Saddles_ for the umpteenth time rather than watch Jack and David hump each other on the dance floor. However, not to lose any cred, he had invited Racetrack over to partake in the Mel Brooks-ness.

"I had no idea you liked this," Race said also for the umpteenth time. "I figured you liked action flicks with tons of blood. You know, _Rambo_, _RoboCop_, _Fievel Goes West_. That kind of thing."

"I also like Python. Betcha didn't see that one coming either," Spot smirked.

They shared a laugh and went back to watching. Fifteen minutes later, Race started to speak again.

"So, why were you faking?" he asked. "Thursday, I mean."

Spot's cheeks flushed. How did _he_ know that he was faking?

"I wasn't faking."

Race turned and cocked a brow.

"Right. And I'm—"

"Don't say it."

He laughed. "Okay, I won't. But why were you faking?"

_Sometimes the best defense is a good offense._

The phrase his father had instilled into his mind when he had tried—in vain—to teach Spot about football before taking to ignoring his son for the sheer fact that he was "too small" to play the sport.

"Race, wanna hear a secret?" he offered.

Racetrack leaned forward and brazenly hit pause on the movie. He turned completely to face Spot, nodding.

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind hearing a secret."

Spot leaned forward on his bed and crooked a finger so Race would come closer.

"I like Jack," he whispered.

Race leaned back. "So? So do I."

"No," he insisted. "I _like_ Jack."

"As in, like-like?"

Spot rolled his eyes. "Yes. What, are we in fourth grade now? Now you know. And if you tell anyone, you'll be wearing your balls as earrings."

Race paused. "That's from _Creepshow_."

"Yeah, it is. And I mean it Higgins," he glared. "I. Mean. It."

The other boy blinked his eyes rapidly, shaking his head.

"Shit, Conlon. You're even freakier than that fucking monkey."

"I know and I'm not in a crate, am I?"

To that, Race responded by hitting play and started the movie back up.

--

Compared to dancing, David was a kissing master. He was the anti-dancer his whole life, avoiding any moment to dance unless it was a matter of life or death…or at a Bar or Bat Mitzvah but those usually included everyone in his family and no one was a good dancer. Not that what he and Jack were doing could be considered dancing. Or, rather, what Jack was doing to him which involved rubbing his crotch on his ass while grinding his hips into his pelvis. Yet, with Jack, it was like watching some divine art rather than it being simulated sex. The only downside—other than the sheer amount of people closing in on David's dance space—was that Jack kept sucking on his neck. It was kind of gross.

"Jack, I have a headache!" he shouted into his ear. "Can we go somewhere else?"

He felt Jack perk up behind him and, before he could press the idea further, they were outside the club.

"Your place or mine?" Jack asked immediately.

David's cheeks heated up and he stared down at his feet. "N-neither. I'm not…I don't…I…"

He gazed up and gave a pitiful look.

"Damn it, Dave," Jack ran a hand through his sweaty hair. "You are different from the other boys."

"Meaning I'm a virgin?"

"Meaning fuck yeah."

David laughed and leaned against the wall of the club, wringing his hands.

"Jack, it's not that I don't want sex," he said. "And it's not like I'm being a tease. I'm just not _ready_. I mean, I haven't done anything teasing, have I?"

Jack rested a hand on the wall and stared at him with that intense look of his.

"David, this may sound incredibly lame but just _looking_ at you if a fucking tease," he stated. "I mean, seriously, have you taken aphrodisiac pills because, honestly, you look different from the other boys too."

"Uh…thanks?"

"You better be fucking thankful."

They shared a laugh and Jack kissed him lightly.

"Now, let's go somewhere to eat?" David offered.

"No food," Jack shook his head. "Let's just hang out in a café or something. I'm not hungry."

"Okay."

Jack took his hand and they walked down Fifth Avenue, both looking incredibly out of place in the immaculacy of it all but neither seemed to care.

--

Blink was pissed. No, he was _more_ than pissed. What right did that mother fucking shit head asshole have? He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to the side.

"What do you want, Bumlets?" he asked evenly. "I was with someone if you couldn't tell."

Bumlets pushed some of his black hair away from his forehead and looked directly at Blink.

"Alex, I'm well aware that you're with someone. All I wanted to know was that—"

"Speak like someone normal for once, will ya?" Blink spat.

He shook his head in a pitying fashion before glancing back at Blink.

"Why do _you_ speak like that? I mean, you may have Dutchy and Pie fooled but I know you're no moron."

"Wow, you deserve a prize for that."

"Step down off of the rod up your ass please, Alex."

"Only if you step off the pedestal."

The two stopped and stared at each other for a moment. Blink felt a rant bubbling inside him. He was going to tell him off. A little voice in his head was telling him that as he stared at Bumlets's chiseled face.

"Okay," he felt the bubble come up. "I'm sick and tired of your stupid shit. I don't even know why you pulled me away from some stupid party that I don't even really want to be at just so you can admit that I'm not a moron. Newsflash, I already know that. Another newsflash, I don't like you. I think I've made it clear that I want to have as little contact with you and your…_friends_ as possible so please leave before I go Stallone on your ass and risk facing jail time for killing your pretentious, fencing, cricket-playing a—"

Blink was silenced mid-tirade by Bumlets jamming his tongue down his throat and pressing his lips tantalizingly against his. It was a hell of a lot different from kissing Mush and not in a good way. His lips felt foreign and hard—if the latter were even possible. Blink pushed on his chest in an attempt to cease the kissing. He was so fucked if—

"Blink?"

Caught off guard, Blink shoved Bumlets away. He closed his good eye and opened it hoping that it had been an aural hallucination or the horrible club music was warping his mind into hearing things but no, Mush stood not three feet away. His jaw and fists were clenched and tears were welling in his eyes.

"Mush," he started. "Sweetie…"

He pushed the tears away with his wrist, wiping it against his eyes.

"I can't…" his voice trailed off.

"Dean," Bumlets tried. "We were—"

"Shut up before I feed you your teeth!" Mush spat. "Blinky, how could you?"

Before Blink could answer, Mush disappeared from the club. Without giving a look to Bumlets, he tore after him, yelling his name. Now he was fucked.


	10. The Slow, Metallic Wrath of MECHA SLUG

"Bitch please," those two words jarred Bumlets from his blissful, near-vegetative state as he sat in the courtyard.

The horribly snarky voice belonged to his twin brother, Bryan. Bryan and Byron. Their parents lacked the creativity gene.

"What?" Bumlets asked him angrily.

"Trying to wake you up from your hair metal-induced coma brother dear," Bryan replied smugly.

Bryan was one of the few boys in school who was never given a nickname. Jack had tried calling him Asslets, parodying Bumlets's own nickname but it was more insulting than anything so he just dropped it.

"Shut up, I don't like hair metal," Bumlets shot back.

"Right and you're going to tell me that you weren't just listening to Cinderella on your CD player?"

He fielded it with a glare.

"Shut up," he repeated.

Bryan shook his head. "My dear brother, how is it that you can hang out with the country-club crew and yet—"

"Shut up, Bryan."

Bryan wagged his tongue at him. He was the only one allowed to see Bumlets at his most vulnerable. When he wasn't playing the veritable asshole, a part he let people believe he was born to play. Truth was, while he liked fencing—anything sword-related always caught his interest—but he despised cricket. Something about the whole cheating scandal just made it seem dirty. Who in their right mind would cheat at _cricket_? Someone who was dying to make the sport not boring?

"Dear me, what would they say if they saw our room?" Bryan continued. "I can see it now. Pie Eater would have a heart attack when he saw your life-sized poster of C.C. DeVille. Dutchy would keel over at the sight of your print of Billy Idol from the shower scene in the 'Catchy My Fall' video!"

Bumlets swung and hit his brother in the chest.

"Do be quiet," he snapped.

"Not until you tell me what happened Friday."

To that, Bryan got no answer because Bumlets had decided that it was the perfect time to disappear into the school.

--

Blink hunched his shoulders as he scowlingly got out of Skittery's car. He had been a recluse all weekend, dodging calls and hiding beneath his covers. His mother broke down six times on Saturday alone, claiming that he was conspiring against her as he holed himself up. He had crashed when he learned that not only was Mush not speaking to him but he wasn't returning calls either. How could he explain to him that the kiss with Bumlets hadn't been wanted if he wasn't even going to speak to him?

Given what had happened, the only chance he'd get to speak with him was at his soccer game on Friday. Although soccer was a spring sport, there was a year-round soccer team that played scrimmages in Central Park every other Friday unless it was clogged with snow.

"Jesus, Blink," Skittery muttered, slamming the driver's door. "You've been quiet and sulky all morning. What gives?"

"I kind of like it," Dutchy remarked snarkily, smirking. "Hey, there's Bummers. Come on, Skittery."

Skittery squinted at the dark-haired boy perched on the steps. He was dressed like a skater in JNCO pants and a backwards cap.

"That's Bryan," he corrected. "Bumlets must already be inside."

With that, they left. Blink scowled after them. Skittery was doing that I-don't-want-to-be-here-and-deal-with-your-shit act he always did when Blink was pissed. So be it. It gave him an excuse to find Mush and talk to him.

There he was. He spotted him sitting on the third step from the top, right by Jack's graffiti. He was reading one of those _Weird U.S._ books and looking incredibly cute in an Inter Milan shirt, cargo shorts (since he never wore jeans) and white Converse All-stars. Backed by the bright, September sun that glinted off of the mirrored windows of the surrounding buildings, he looked all but angelic. Carefully, he approached him.

"Mush, sweetie," he tried, squatting beside him.

He glanced up and eyed him coldly. "Don't call me that."

This wasn't him. This wasn't the not-too-bright, genuine, quick-to-forgive boy Blink was in love with. He seemed almost foreign to him.

"What happened was…" Blink bit his lip. Fuck, he wasn't even entirely sure what had happened or why Bumlets had mouth-mauled him.

"What happened was an eye-opener," Mush finished. "Now I know why you pretended to hate him. Because I was too stupid to catch on. Was that it?"

"I don't like him," Blink insisted. "And you're not stupid because there's nothing between us."

"Whatever."

Mush closed the book and put it into his battered, leather backpack. He stood and started to walk away from Blink who kept squatting on the steps even as hordes of students passed by him.

--

"You're naming it _what_?" David asked, looking at the baby in the crook of Skittery's arm.

"It's a _she_," Skittery corrected. "And I'm naming her Lene."

"But…why?"

"Because Lene is the incredibly gorgeous singer from Aqua," Skittery rolled his eyes. "I swear, I'd go straight for her."

David kept looking at the little doll that looked eerily like Skittery. She was dressed in a cut-up Scandal onesie that looked homemade.

"What's with the outfit?"

"It was mine," he explained. "My parents were pretty poor when they had me so my mother had to sacrifice her precious t-shirt."

"Oh, okay," David bit his lip. "Speaking of parents…um…how did yours react when you came out?"

Skittery let out a loud laugh and slammed his locker shut.

"My mom has been AWOL since I was ten and found my dad caught in _flagrante delicto_ with his co-worker Jim so she doesn't know. As for my dad, he's stoked that I give new meaning to 'the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.' Why do your parents not know yet?"

David rolled his eyes. "What do you think?"

"Ah. When are you going to tell them?"

He made a contemplative face and started towards Denton's class.

"I think I'll wait until Hell freezes over and then see how things are."

Skittery shook his head and switched Lene to his other arm so he could grasp his schoolbooks better.

"Man, you are a worry," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Kindly shut your hole," David responded.

They shared a laugh and David was about to speak again when strong, capable arms wrapped around his midsection.

"Hey Jack," he said without even turning around.

"How'd you know it was me?" he asked coyly, resting his chin how he liked on David's shoulder.

"Because it would either be you or a very friendly rapist."

"Ah," Skittery noted. "The Friendly Rapist. Known for hugging boys from behind before having his way with them."

Jack lifted David up heavily by his waist, leaning back so that his feet lifted off of the ground and all of his weight was practically on Jack.

"I shalt take thou to thy knees and fucketh you without mercy," he purred in a British accent.

"Ah, so the Friendly Rapist likes the bard," Skittery laughed.

Jack let David down and they laughed again before going into Denton's class.

--

Sarah practically skipped and spun to her first period class. She had a boyfriend. A real life boyfriend. After their lengthy make out session in front of her building, Morris had asked her out on another date for Friday. He had even asked her to hang out with him during free period. She was deliriously happy. As she all but skipped down the hall, she noticed David laughing with a tall boy in a Billy Joel shirt. Jack's arms were around his waist as the three of them walked into class. David seemed really happy too. Maybe the move wasn't so bad after all. Sure, they were all but penniless and their father worked in a kosher deli but still, they were at least happy.

"Hey Sarah," David waved to her before stepping into the classroom.

She waved back and waved the little hand on her baby doll to him.

"Hey David," she replied before continuing on her merry way down the hall.

--

Bumlets lobbed the ball back to Snitch who raised his own stick to try and catch it but only managed to fall back and land on his rear.

"Oh, shit," he dropped the lacrosse stick angrily next to him. "Why are we learning this sport anyway?"

"Because our school has leftover lacrosse equipment pre-budget cuts and it's better than basketball."

Snitch stood on his own and brushed the back of his gym shorts.

"Basketball sucks," he agreed. "There's something so mindless about chasing a bouncing orange ball up and down a court while sweaty boys throw themselves at you."

"Sounds like a porno," Bumlets noted.

Snitch shrugged. Coach Wiesel blew his whistle authoritatively in an attempt to get the boys more interested in the national sport of Canada.

"Remind me why we didn't do this freshmen year?" Snitch grumbled, picking his net back up.

"Because God hates us," Bumlets replied.

"Ouch, right in the feel bads," Snitch put a hand over his heart as if Bumlets had physically hit him.

"What? You're straight."

"Sure I am."

Bumlets rolled his eyes.

"Snitch, don't pull that ooh-I'm-both-I'm-controversial business. It's droll."

Snitch dropped the ball back into the net on the end of his stick.

"Bummers, who under the age of…_death_ says droll anymore?"

"How about…Rizzio, throw the ball before I use this as a colonic?"

"Deal."

Snitch gave a pitiful arch and thwapped the ball right into the ground. Bumlets bit back laughter not three minutes later when his own throw did the same thing.

"We fail at lacrosse," he observed.

"Meaning we fail at life," Snitch tried to bite back a smile.

--

"Kneel before the epic power of MECHA SLUG!" Snitch proclaimed loudly at lunch, rolling a silver divot-fixer over Pie Eater's fruit pie bag. "Or you shall face slow, slimy death!"

"Where did you find that?" Dutchy wrinkled his perfect little nose.

"Closet," he explained. "Now bow before MECHA SLUG!"

Bumlets picked it up with pinched fingers and looked at the little fixer.

"Nice," he remarked.

"Nice?" Dutchy blanched. "That's all you can say?"

"Bummers is out of it," Bryan snapped at them.

"Shut up, peon," Pie Eater mumbled. "We were talking to your brother."

Bumlets placed MECHA SLUG down and gave an exaggerated sigh.

"Does it have anything to do with the Uzi of anger coming from Blink's…eye?" Dutchy queried.

"Don't gossip," Pie warned.

Snitch rolled his eyes and picked back up MECHA SLUG.

"Smile Bumlets," he commanded in a deep voice. "Or you shall face the slow, metallic wrath of MECHA SLUG!"

"Put that away," he shoved the divot-fixer from his face. "I don't want to deal with mecha slug."

"You have to say it properly," Snitch smiled.

"No."

"Honestly," Pie Eater rolled his eyes.

"Say it!"

"If I say it would you kindly shut your mouth?"

Snitch nodded and dangled the little metal fixer in his face.

"Fine…I don't want to deal with MECHA SLUG!"

"Now, was that so hard?" Snitch elbowed him playfully which earned him a little thwap on the arm since Bumlets wasn't really in the mood to keep up with his charade.

"Hold up your end of the bargain."

"Shutting."

--

Oscar dead-eyed little Sugar Ray in his arms and glared.

"I hate you," he said icily.

The baby stared at him with dead eyes.

"Stop mocking me!"

As if on cue, the stupid doll started crying again. Oscar jammed the little black plastic key into its back to shut it up. Whoever thought of the idea to install a crying box in the dolls needed to be punched. Preferably with a bullet.

"You're weird," some upstart, better-than-thou freshman remarked which earned the little fucker a kick to the shin and a whack to the face with a plastic doll.

Some people. Speaking of some people, Oscar leaned forward in his desk as Skittery walked into sixth period biology carting his own baby. Oscar wasn't going to admit that he had been waiting for him to come in since that would brand him queer which he wasn't.

"Hey Fagola," he sneered. "Nice baby."

"I could say the same to you," he quipped.

Oscar felt his muscles tense and his blood boil. How did he know about him? That little fucking asshole dick-sucking cock-face!

"What was that?" he threatened.

Skittery paused a beat and pointed to Sugar Ray who was crying again.

"Baby," he said slowly. "What did you think I meant?"

"Your ass!" Oscar shouted back and jammed the key, yet again, into the pale little baby's back.

Skittery shook his head and took his seat a few desks down next to that beaver-toothed kid, Snitch or Snick or something. Oscar held the key in place, looking at the door and _not_ at Skittery. At least, that's what he told himself.


	11. We're Gonna Need a Bigger Boat

Mush waited impatiently for the bus. He wasn't an impatient person usually but he really wanted to get away from the school. He had managed to avoid Blink all day and was keen on doing it again once he got home. As he waited, he drifted off into Deanland where boys with kinky curly hair and upturned noses had super straight, matinee idol hair and full plump lips and were served frappucinos by Bigfoot while Nessie swam in the Olympic-sized swimming pools in their Beverly Hills mansions. And where all the guys looked like David Beckham because, even though Real Madrid wasn't Mush's team, he really fancied Beckham. And all the Beckham-alikes panted after him like he was a cold drink and they were a big hot day…or would it be hot week? And cheating, half-blind blonde boys could just go piss off because they weren't needed. Thing was, Mush could hardly believe that Blink, the boy he had ogled from afar since sixth grade, would even deem him worthy of talking to. Blink was all arch and wit with a smile and a denim-blue eye that he could get lost in. The day he came up to him in Biology and started taking interest in what Mush had to say…he nearly had a coronary. It was like all of his fantasies rolled up into one package. And now that package had smashed on him with a sledgehammer like that one weird comedian with the annoying voice does to watermelons and it really, really hurt.

A loud, hissing, squealing noise jerked Mush out of Deanland as the gray bus pulled up to the stop and he along with his peers had to get on. He found a seat near the back and stared vacantly out of the back window. He saw Blink getting into Skittery's car, looking both angry and sad. Sangry? Aad? Sadngry? Either way, it wasn't a particularly _good_ look. Mush bit his upper lip. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to be mean or to ignore Blink. Then he saw Bumlets close behind him and his body froze up again. He turned angrily in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest while staring at the front of the bus. He didn't look behind himself for the rest of the journey.

--

"Well," Snitch remarked. "I'm sufficiently afraid of the water."

This comment, of course, was aimed at nobody seeing as he was alone in the apartment. His mother and Daly had gone on some lame, middle school field trip to Lake Placid and were going to be gone for the entire week. And it wasn't like he could just call up any of his friends without them coming all together because putting Bumlets, Pie Eater, and Dutchy in the same room for a prolonged period of time would take years off of Snitch's tender young life.

So instead of going out and interacting like a normal boy should, Snitch spent the last who-knows-how-many hours watching _The Poseidon Adventure_ and _Jaws_ back to back. Those two movies on their own were enough to keep him off of beaches and boats respectively but together, they made him shiver just looking at his bathtub. Snitch reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, deciding to text Skittery. If he was alone, he'd invite him over.

**Snitch: **You there?

**Skittery:** What? Yeah Im here

**Snitch:** What are you doing?

**Skittery: **Nothing. Blink and Dave are over

**Snitch: **Dave?

**Skittery: **New kid. Dating Jack?

**Snitch: **Oh!

So, Skittery wasn't alone. He didn't really hang out with Blink all that much and didn't know David at all but he was bored and desperate

**Snitch: **Wanna come over?

**Skittery: **Why don't you just come over here?

**Snitch: **Oh yeah. Be there in ten

"Blink's on an angst train so be forewarned," were the first words Skittery spoke as Snitch entered his ridiculously clean apartment.

"Angst train?" David asked from the couch. "He needs a wamburger and a side of French cries."

"And if he chokes," Snitch couldn't help but add. "We could call whine one-one."

"And they'll send over a waaaambulance," Skittery smiled.

The three of them cracked up and Snitch found himself immediately taking a liking to David. Boy was witty. He hadn't noticed this when he sat with them at lunch, keeping radio silence.

"Shut up," Blink grumbled grouchily. "I'm not in the mood."

Snitch vaulted over the back of Skittery's white leather couch and landed primly between Blink and David.

"Is it about Mush?" he asked, knowing the answer.

Blink gave him a dirty look.

"I don't see the big deal," Snitch continued. "I mean, you two are as in love as two high school people can be, right? So he's probably just going through male PMS."

Blink shoved him, leading Snitch to question his blindness with the dead-on aim of that shove.

"Shut up," he snapped.

The second the words were out of Blink's mouth, Snitch was seized with an amazing idea.

"I am going to fix things!" he grabbed Blink's upper arm.

A mortified look momentarily caused Blink's features to screw up weirdly before reverting back to their eternal loveliness.

"Don't," he scoffed.

"I will," Snitch smiled brightly. "Blink, phone por favor."

Blink shook his head. "No dice. Mush isn't speaking to me."

He tapped the antenna of his own phone against his lower lip.

"Why don't you just get Mush's number off of Blink's phone and call him from yours?" David offered.

Skittery laughed from the kitchen where he was apparently fixing snacks for them. Blink gave David the dirtiest look Snitch had ever seen.

"Don't enable him," he commanded.

But it was too late. Snitch seized the phone and quickly logged Mush's number into his own. Blink could only sit there, stupefied, while it rang.

--

Jack poked his head out of his bedroom door. He carefully moved it from side to side to check for any enemy activity. All was clear. He gently pushed the door open a little more to allow for the rest of him to slip out. On socked feet, he nimbly tiptoed into the open kitchen and to the refrigerator. As he did so, he caught a glance of himself in that fucking mirrored door. He stared angrily at his reflection and it glared right back. Fucking Erin. Shutting his eyes, Jack reached blindly for the handle. He didn't open his eyes until he felt the cold rush from the fridge on his face.

"What are you doing?"

Jack glanced around the door to see Erin, the loathed girlfriend of his father, standing with her hands on her hips. Erin looked like an overly Irish version of Jennifer Tilly: the curvy body, huge tits and even her voice was a dead-on for the actress. In fact, only her curly red hair and freckles kept her from winning an impersonation contest. Still, even if Jack were straight, he wouldn't harbor any step-Oedipal lust towards her because she was a fucking megabitch.

"Eating," he offered.

Erin marched over and stood on her tiptoes to lean over Jack's shoulder, massive breasts nearly crushing his neck as she did so.

"Are you grabbing an apple?" she demanded, knowing full well that fruits and vegetables never touched the cold shelves of the Sullivan's fridge.

"No…there's leftover chicken," Jack replied.

"Fried chicken!" she snapped. "Do you know what that'd do to you? Look! You're puffing up!"

She grabbed imaginary rolls of skin on Jack's hips and scowled.

"Look at that!" she accused.

He clamped on his lower lip and resisted the urge to backhand her in the face. He closed the fridge door. Erin smiled and stepped back, no longer crushing him with her boobs.

"There," her self-satisfied smile grew wider. "That wasn't hard was it?"

Jack widened his eyes to manic proportions. "Golly gee, Erin, you so were right! I feel a lot more satisfied from _not_ eating rather than eating a horrible, fried piece of chicken!"

Sarcasm, like most things, completely eluded Erin and she flounced away, humming happily. The second she was out the apartment door, Jack opened the fridge and took out a piece of chicken. He raised it to his lips but caught his reflection in the dishwasher—he couldn't get away from the fucking mirrors. He put the chicken back in the fridge and shut the door. Fucking Erin.

--

Blink gripped a leather throw pillow to his chest like it was a life raft. Pretty fitting since his romantic life hung in the balance of Snitch's phone call. Normally, he would've grabbed the phone from him, preventing him from calling but Blink was desperate and desperate times called for desperate measures.

"He's answering!" Snitch squealed.

Before Blink could react, another ring rang out into the air. David blushed and ducked into the bathroom to answer his phone. As he did, he opened it and started talking. Blink definitely heard him go 'Hi Jack' before he disappeared into the bathroom.

"Hey, Mush,"

The color drained from his face again as Snitch spoke happily into the phone.

"This is Danny…you know, Snitch from your PE class?"

Blink buried his face in the leather pillow.

"So anyway, guess who I'm talking to…no…no…" Snitch rolled his eyes. "No, not that either. Hold on!"

He thrust the phone into Blink's hand and smiled while he shot daggers at his smirky little face. The guy was here _five_ minutes and he already wanted to throttle him.

"Hey."

There was a long pause on the other line.

"Hi."

"Mush, I—"

There was a click and the dial tone rang cruelly in Blink's ear.

"Harsh," Snitch noted.

"Shut up, Rizzio," Blink slumped on the couch.

--

"You're probably the only person in the world under forty who still plays Galaga."

Spot rolled his eyes and kept playing the game. "It's great for venting."

"_Sexual_ venting?"

He decided not to dignify Race's innuendo with an answer.

"So, you dig old stuff? I mean, you like Mel Brooks and Python and now Galaga."

Spot sighed as his last ship was incinerated. What sucked was that he was out of tokens.

"Brooks and Python are timeless," he explained. "Now let's motor before the mall closes."

They took their leave, Race sucking noisily on a cherry flavored Slushie. Spot had been avoiding Jack out of school since he had asked that little asshole David out. And now that Racetrack knew his secret, he was keeping the Italian boy close to him as not to spill the beans. Race wasn't known for keeping his mouth shut. Problem was, he _liked_ spending time with Racetrack. It was weird.

"So, I never would've figured that."

"Say that a few more times," Spot rolled his eyes.

He shook his head and took another slurp from his Slushie. For every moment that he found himself having an amazing time with Race, he had to open his mouth and make matters stupid. Spot shook his head and swiped the Slushie away, sucking on it himself. The artificial, cherry flavor flooded and coated his mouth. He handed it back to Race and swished the cold liquid in his mouth before swallowing. Despite the coldness, it was very soothing.

--

David nervously twined the shower curtain in Skittery's immaculately clean apartment through nervous fingers.

"Jack, I'm…"

"Come on David, don't s'pose you fancy phone sex? How about the real thing?" his voice alone sent shivers up David's back. The good kind of shivers. The kind that lead to him getting an erection.

"Jack," he tried again. "I'm not…I…"

There was a long, exaggerated sigh on the other line.

"Fine," he said in a resigned voice. "Then just come on over anyway. You aren't doing anything at Skittery's are you?"

He peeked out through the door where Snitch was, once again, trying to call Mush and probably seriously running out of minutes. Well, probably not since each call lasted about thirty seconds tops. Blink had his face buried in the throw pillow and was showing no signs of coming up for air anytime soon. Skittery, meanwhile, was still in the kitchen, munching innocently on pretzels in a white Tupperware bowl.

"Not particularly," he said finally.

"Great. Be here in ten, please."

"Jack—"

"I'm inviting you over," he laughed. "It doesn't have to be a sex thing. Calm your pretty little ass and get said ass over here now."

There was really no convincing him otherwise. David sighed and agreed to come over.

"But it may be more than ten minutes," he warned. "I have to take a bus."

"Can't wait."

"And remember Jack," he added. "It's not going to be a sex thing."

--

"Okay," Jack smiled. "I lied. It was _totally_ a sex thing."

David glanced over at him, amazed at how calm he was. Of course, Jack had done this dozens of times. David, meanwhile, was completely shell-shocked. The second he had stepped into Jack's apartment, he had him on the couch in a full-on make out session. Getting kissed by Jack tended to make him forget a lot of things, including any of his inhibitions, which was probably how they ended up in his bedroom. Now Jack was lying with the sheets only covering him in strategic places, his head propped up on one hand. David had the covers clutched to his body as if he were about to have a heart attack. He had caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror: hair in octopus tentacle mode, blue eyes wide and frightened, face looking too young to have done what he just did.

"Now that wasn't hard was it?" Jack widened his smile.

David just stared at him. How much of a slut was he? He and Jack had been going out for a week, a _week_, and he had already slept with him. Well, Jack had a way of making you forget things.

He put his free arm around David and drew him closer, into a kiss. Their sweaty bodies touched and David felt his face heat up when his stomach hit Jack's. He laughed a little.

"Lighten up Davey," he advised. "It gets easier…and less painful."

David put a hand on the curve of his ass where it was still sore.

"Good to know," he quipped, regaining some composure.

"Great," Jack smiled that big toothy grin again.

David rested his head on Jack's chest, staring up at him. The way things had went…even the sex…it had just made sense. Like he and Jack just fit. He wondered. David sneezed and checked up at his face. To his dismay, Jack had fallen asleep. He kissed him lightly. Well, that didn't count. If Jack had been awake he would _totally_ have said 'God bless you'…right? David put his arms around Jack's midsection and curled against him. Of course he would.

--

"My life is trash," Blink moaned for the umpteenth time. "_Why_ won't he _talk_ to me?"

"Because _you_ put the _emphasis_ on every _other_ word?" Snitch replied snidely.

Blink gave him a dirty, don't-add-to-my-angst look and went back to all but making out with the pillow he had been buried in since the first failed call to Mush. Snitch slapped it phone down on the coffee table and sighed.

"Okay," he said.

"What?" Blink snapped. "Another _brilliant_ idea, Rizzio?"

Snitch gave him a meaningful look.

"What?"

"We're gonna need a bigger boat."


	12. Sex on Digimon Bed Sheets

David was aware of three things as he opened his eyes: one, it was eleven-thirty. He had to get home pronto, another was that he had an erection and the last, which really tied into the second, said erection was pressing into Jack's stomach. Problem was, David couldn't make a call to her because he was wound around him like string so the first problem couldn't get remedied. That also curbed the 'need to get to the bathroom so I don't stab someone with my penis' problem as well.

"Jack," he hissed. "I have to call my mom. Could you get up?"

Jack lazily opened his eyes and yawned, tongue sliding out a little over his lower lip. It made David squicky just looking at it, knowing what that tongue had done just hours ago. Still, he wouldn't let go of him.

"Jack," he said again.

Still nothing. He shuffled a bit in bed and winced a little but still didn't let go. David inched to the side of the bed, taking Jack with him. Who would've thought him as the clingy type?

"Jack," he repeated for the third time.

This time, at least, he got an answer albeit through clenched teeth. "I can't move."

"What?" did he hear him incorrectly?

"I. Can't. Move," Jack winced. "I slept on my neck funny. It's all throbbing and in pah-ayne!"

The last word must've been said when he tried to move because his body contorted weirdly for a minute there.

"Where does it hurt?" David asked politely.

"The entire back of my neck," Jack squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed it, causing him to wince again.

David nodded, trying to deflate his own problem. He was about to mention his own…predicament when Jack noticed it himself.

"Davey," he asked through clenched teeth. "What's that poking me?"

"Why Jack, no need to be alarmed…it's just my penis."

Then he started laughing which just made him wince and groan in pain again. To add more pain, David's cell phone started to ring.

"Goddamnit!" Jack yelled, causing him to scream and grab his neck again.

David managed to wriggle out from Jack and limp over to his phone. Not even bothering to check the number, he answered.

"Hello?"

"David, where are you?"

"Sorry mom…I'm at Jack's and fell asleep," not a total lie.

But now…his mother was the least of his worries. He looked down at his crotch, glaring at his penis. You'd think that his mother's voice or Jack's pain would've deflated him a little but no, the little guy was there to stay.

"Are you spending the night there?" she asked in a worried voice. "Ask if that's okay because I don't want you on the bus so late at night. You could get raped and left cut in pieces in the middle of the street."

His mother had been in the city for a week and that's all it took for her to reach ultra-paranoia about rapists and muggers.

"Mom," David rolled his eyes. "This isn't _American Psycho_. No guy is going to kill me if I take the bus."

"This isn't what?" movies had always eluded his mother so David didn't bother elaborating. "Just ask, sweetie."

David put the phone down and looked at Jack. "My mom wants to know if I can spend the night."

Jack gave a head movement—David couldn't tell which—but then groaned and fell back on the bed.

"Okay, two blinks yes, one blink no."

He blinked twice. David relayed this information to his mother and then, after hanging up, he escaped into the bathroom for the world's longest piss. When he came back into the room, Jack was on his back on the floor with his legs up in the air, resting on the side of his bed.

"Davey," he said, the yoga-like position obviously causing him less pain. "Please tell me it was the piss erection meaning you didn't masturbate in my shower."

David nearly fell against the doorframe, eyes wide.

"Jack!" he blushed. "I didn't. I mean…it was the pee kind!"

"Okay then…Jesus," he moaned and tried to rub his neck again, causing him to topple over.

Jack's legs were now over his head so, in theory, he could stick his head between them. He looked like a little kid preparing to do a somersault.

"Dave…get me the muscle relaxers from the bathroom wouldja?" he asked, pouting through his splayed legs. "Just don't run into my dad. He doesn't like people taking them."

David started to leave but the mention of Jack's father made him want to ask something.

"Jack, how did your father react when you came out?"

"Is this really the time?"

He sighed when he saw the look on David's face, which caused another wince, and glanced up at him. "Well, he's in complete denial. He thinks if he sees me kissing a boy, it's CPR. If he sees me having sex—as he does occasionally since these doors don't lock—we're wrestling. He tells his friends I have a different girl a week."

The explanation tired him out and Jack kicked his legs in an effort to get David to hurry back. As he went, he remembered the one part in that lame teen movie _Sixteen Candles_ on the sister's wedding day. Well, he was there. He'd make sure Jack didn't take too many.

--

For the umpteenth time, Jack giggled and fell against the door to the restroom where Spot was ensconced.

"Fuck, Kelly," Spot snapped from behind the door, choosing outrage over both hidden lust and respect. "Are you drunk?"

Jack fielded that answer with another giggle and tried to stand. Race pulled him up from the floor and leaned him against the wall. All morning, Jack had been like that.

"What gives, Cowboy?" Race queried.

His response was another giggle and Jack's head lolled to the side, body slumping onto Race's. He tried not to stagger under the sudden weight.

"Muscle relaxers," David explained. "He took too many when I wasn't looking."

"Looking's a funny word," Jack mumbled into Race's shoulder. He glanced up. "Ook! Ook!"

He let out yet another giggle and buried his face in Race's shoulder again. The bell to end third period rang suddenly above their heads.

"That's our cue to exit," Spot emerged from the bathroom to wash his hands. "Or, rather, to get Jack the fuck out of here before he passes out."

He hoisted Jack off of Race and, with the aide of him and David, managed to get Jack out the door and in the general direction of the nurse's office.

"Da's gon' freak," he muttered as they sat him in the waiting chairs, knowing that the wooden bench outside the door was only for losers with lice because no one got lice in high school and those who did were the epitome of loser-dom…or emo-kids.

"I'll wait with him," David offered.

"No," Spot dead-eyed him. "_We'll_ wait with him."

"Mrowr," Racetrack giggled but an elbow to the ribs courtesy of Spot shut him up but quick.

The three of them then sat by Jack who had gone from giggly to just plain sleepy.

--

Skittery took a bite of his salad, not really tasting it. He had forgone his usual table, choosing to rather sit with Blink and Snitch who were both arguing over Snitch's new plan to get Mush back. Skittery could've given his two cents but was too busy staring at Oscar. It was perverse and stupid, he knew, but he just couldn't keep his eyes off of him. He was sitting with his brother and David's sister—with whom Morris was necking like there was no tomorrow—near the back of the cafeteria. He was spinning his little plastic doll on one finger, not caring that it was crying up a storm. Skittery glanced down at Lene in her Scandal onesie and couldn't help but smile. An idea occurred to him that, since they sat next to each other, that they could help each other with their babies. Of course, he'd be insane to think that in the first place. One, there was no way that it could lead to anything more because Oscar was NOT GAY and two, he obviously couldn't care less about the project. Still, the idea was incredibly tempting.

Without thinking, Skittery got up, leaving Lene in the not-so capable hands of Snitch. He wasn't sure where he was going but he needed to get there. On his way, he bumped into someone. Someone very familiar.

"Hey Mush," he said distractedly.

"Skit, wait."

His voice sounded so sad and vulnerable, he had to stop.

"What is it?"

He looked at Mush in his usual uniform of cargo shorts, Inter Milan shirt and high tops and thought he looked about twelve years old. He was overcome with the sudden urge to hug him, which was strange for a jaded boy such as himself since he wasn't really the touchy-feely type.

"Does…does he miss me?"

"It's been two days."

"So that's a no?" his eyes looked desperately sad.

Jesus, Mush was one of those blessed guys, Skittery realized. One of those heartthrob cute guys that no one ever got mad so he wouldn't look sad.

"He does miss you," Skittery declared. "A lot."

"Okay," Mush smiled. "Just making sure."

He walked away but Skittery was pretty sure that the smile was completely fake. He started to walk away himself but he paused. Was this entire break-up an act so that blink realized what he had? He shook his head, nearly laughing. No. Mush was a sweetheart but no way could he be that bright.

Skittery headed down the tables. He knew where his feet were taking him but he really had no mind of his own when it came to them. They were leading him right towards…_him_. As he neared the table, Sarah waved to him casually as if her neck wasn't being mauled.

"Hey, you hang out with my brother, right?" she asked politely.

Skittery nodded.

"What are you doing here, _Michael_?" Oscar sneered.

He blushed. Oscar was probably the only person on the face of the earth who could look adorable when he sneered.

"Walking," he managed coolly. "That a crime?"

"No but—"

He stopped himself completely. It was like someone had hit his inner pause button. Their eyes met and Skittery, if he hadn't known better, could've _sworn_ that he saw some longing in there. But no, a split-second later, the moment was over and Oscar was back to sneering and making jokes.

"Do you want to sit down?" Sarah asked.

"No," he shook his head. "I just came to see if there was anything good in the vending machines."

He pointed to the black machines behind them before quickly hurrying away. Furtively, Skittery glanced over his shoulder. Was it him or was Oscar watching his ass as he left?

--

"Did I not raise you correctly? Look, _look_ at those marks! Those are the marks of someone who's loose! You're not loose!"

David shut his door as his mother continued her tirade over Sarah's hickeys. According to her, making out obviously got girls pregnant. He checked under his shirt for his own hickeys and felt a blush spark on his face. How did just thinking about Jack have this effect on him?

"Oi!" he heard his mother lament from the other room. "I knew we should've never moved to the city! Les asked me about PCP yesterday. PCP! The drug! He said older kids were _selling_ it at his school and if it was okay for him to buy some. Drugs, Sarah, drugs! And David disappeared last night and I didn't hear from him until almost midnight and now you're having sex!"

"Mom!" Sarah's surprise was almost palpable in her voice. "I'm not having sex. Having a boyfriend and having sex are two different things."

His mother continued her rant about how her children were drifting away and how Les was going to end up a junkie panhandling for drugs on the street and how Sarah was going to be pregnant and that David himself was going to end up sliced and diced on the street. Part of him wanted to poke his head out the door and go "Hey mom, I'm also gay and I was having sex with a _boy_ last night" but that'd cause nothing short of a heart attack so he didn't bother. Plus, there were a plethora of better ways to come out and he had chosen the best one, not to, and was sticking with it.

After another five minutes of ranting, Sarah opened the door to David and Les's room and slipped in. Sure enough, there were at least five hickeys on her neck.

"He's a biter," she explained, giggling.

"I don't see the big deal. I mean, I'm happy. Isn't that what counts?"

She flopped on Les's bed, disturbing the precariously piled stuffed animals so that they rained down upon the beige carpet. David unwound his hands from his Digimon sheets—none of the Jacobs had gotten new bedding in over eight years; Sarah still had Powerpuff Girls while Les had baby Disney characters—and sighed. He was about to say something along the lines of agreeing but then he stared at his sheets. Was someone who owned Digimon sheets even _allowed_ to have sex? A deliciously naughty picture of Jack and him having sex on said sheets made David blush.

"What?" Sarah noticed the sudden red color.

"I, uh, think you're right," he managed, winding his hands around the sheets again.

Sarah sat up and crossed her arms over her chest.

"David," she had a knowing look on her face. "What is it?"

"What? I agree with you!" he snapped. "About how she should just care that we're happy and if you want to have sex, that's your business."

She sighed. "I'm _not_ having sex. I mean, we're all still virgins so I don't know why mom's freaking out!"

"Yeah," David tried to smile. "All still virgins."

Sarah's eyes widened to roughly the size of dinner plates. David put his face in his hands.

"David, you didn't…" she looked at his face. "You did. With Jack?"

Mortified, he could only nod.

"So you lost your virginity before me?" was she _jealous_?

He nodded again. Much to his surprise, Sarah pounced off of Les's bed and hugged him.

"This is so awesome, Davey!" she enthused. "I'm so happy for you!"

Okay, was she _high_? He lifted his head.

"What?"

"That's so awesome," she repeated. "I mean, if you can have sex now it's totally okay if I have it!"

Her logic made him want to barf just thinking of her and Mr. could-break-David-in-half-with-one-hand having sex. But it was too late. Sarah leapt to her feet and ran to get her cell phone. David stared at his reflection in the mirror.

"What have I done?" he asked.

Needless to say, he got no answer.

--

"So, my parents are going out to dinner tonight," Sarah said coyly into the phone. "And David's going to Jack's and Les is sleeping over a friend's house."

"Uh-huh…"

She rolled her eyes. "Meaning you could come over."

She could almost see Morris perk up on the other line.

"Seriously?" he asked. "As in…"

She nodded then paused, knowing that he couldn't see her. "Yeah. Definitely."

"When are they going out?"

"Everyone should be gone by eight," she wound a strand of hair around her finger. "So we'd have the whole place to ourselves."

"Fuck yeah!"

Sarah smiled and they said their good-byes. She couldn't pinpoint the exact moment she knew she was ready for sex. It had to be somewhere between her mother's tirade and David's confession that he was ringing the bells with Jack. The first night that they had their date, the first thing her father had asked was 'You sleeping with her?' with this venomous look to him. Of course, Morris wasn't the brightest crayon in the box but he knew to say something like "Um, I'm not like that and we don't want to do anything before we're ready" and all that which she immediately loved him for. But then again, what _was_ he going to say? "Dude, if I had my way, we'd be doing it right _now_?" She giggled at the thought and went to her room to make a checklist. She wanted the night she lost her virginity to be special. Sarah smiled to herself. Boy, and she would make sure that it was going to be special.


	13. Simba It's to Die For

"I don't get it, Snitch," Mush said for the thousandth time. "Where are you taking me?"

Snitch rolled his eyes. "If I told you then it wouldn't be a surprise."

That shut him up as they continued walking down the empty hallways of the school. Mush's nervousness was almost palpable in the gloom of the empty halls. Their sneakers squeaked loudly over the scuffed, avocado-colored linoleum.

"But if you tell me where you're taking me but not what's going happen, wouldn't it still be a surprise?" Mush reasoned after a few minutes.

Snitch paused. He had a point.

"You're an idiot savant," he remarked.

"Hey!" he sounded offended.

"Do you even know what one is?"

"…No."

"Then there you go," Snitch smiled. "I rest my case."

"Okay…so where are we going?"

"We're going to the auditorium."

"What's in there?"

"Seats, curtains, lighting rigs, stage—"

"You know what I mean."

Snitch remained silent and kept walking. He wondered idly if the plan would work. He shook his head. Of course it would. His plan was positively perfect. There was no way that it wouldn't work. Sure, he'd need to…_intervene_ a little. Probably by locking the doors. Then he'd have to book when his wonderful plan worked so well that he'd have to leave before his virgin eyes happened upon a porno.

"So, Snitch," Mush said as they neared the door. "Will I like the surprise?"

Snitch paused with his hand on the handle of the doors to the ancient auditorium.

"Simba, it's to _die_ for."

--

The buzzer by the door went off.

"Crap!" Sarah squealed.

He was here already and not only were the candles not set up but she was still dressed. Quickly, she buzzed him up and ran into her bedroom. She threw off her clothes and turned off the lights. Carefully, she surveyed herself in the mirror. Her jeans had made an angry mark on her hips but it was hidden. Mostly, she looked fine in the soft candlelight and tried not to feel self-conscious about the fact that she was naked. There was a knock on the apartment door. Carefully, she slipped out into the living room and poked her head out.

"Hey," Morris said with a big smile on his face.

"I'm naked," she replied quietly.

The smile turned into a look of complete elation. Sarah had never seen anyone look elated before but he was definitely elated. She opened the door to let him in. As she closed it, she backed up against it, still feeling incredibly self-conscious. Granted, even backed up against the door, he could see her breasts and…area.

"Let's go to my room," she suggested.

Walking with what she hoped was in a sexy fashion, she went into her room. Once in the darkness, she felt immediately better. Well not better so much as not as nervous. With a huge grin, Morris yanked his shirt off. Sarah turned and blushed. She had never seen a guy she wasn't related to shirtless before in person. It was…whoa. Happily, he put his arms around her waist and brought their lips together. Sarah let out a little gasp as they tumbled onto her meticulously made bed, hands everywhere. Then there was the not so romantic prelude where Morris was practically humping her to get his pants off. Now the only thing keeping them from flying United was a thin pair of boxer briefs. Sarah felt her body go on autopilot as if it _knew_ what to do. All she had to do was slip off his underwear and—

"Sarah, have you seen your father's reading glasses?" her mother burst into her bedroom.

Sarah closed her eyes and let her head fall on the pillow as she heard the thump that was her mother passing out on the carpet.

--

"Jack, if you're still in pain, I can go," David offered.

Jack gave him a look that could've frozen a volcano.

"If you leave me alone with her, I'll kill you," he said, voice dripping with glacier-like coldness.

He could understand why he hated to be alone. Five minutes with Jack's stepmother and David wanted to kill her himself. Everything she said was a backhanded comment to Jack. Nothing was off limit: his grades, the food he ate, his sexuality. Like David came in to see Jack wearing his pajamas after being sent home and the first thing he heard her say was: "Jack, you should wear those pajamas more often. They don't make you look bloated like the other ones." The statement alone was utter bullshit since Jack had a body that made David shiver just thinking about it. Maybe that was why Jack never seemed to be hungry and shunned the cafeteria. What a bitch.

"Jack, your friend is cute," Erin remarked. "Is he your _boyfriend_?"

Jack turned to tell her off but winced in pain and faced forward once more so he settled for a 'yes' and a scowl. David massaged the back of his neck and kissed his temple like his mother had done for him when he was younger.

"He's cute," she repeated. "Too bad he's a kike."

David's back stiffened. Oh no she didn't. Jack sprang to his feet, wincing as he did so.

"Erin," he dead-eyed her. "Listen. There are few things I want in this world: one, for my mother to still be alive. Two, for David to show up wearing nothing but a pair of running shoes on our doorstep. And three, for you to get the fuck out of here before I kick you in the breasts and ruin your perfect implants!"

Jack stomped his foot before slumping back on the floor, moaning in pain. David, whose cheeks had turned a surprising shade of crimson at the mention of Jack's second want, couldn't help but smile through his embarrassment. It actually got Erin to leave though without a 'I'm telling your father about this'.

"She had no right to call you that," Jack said, ruffling David's curls.

He was too busy being both embarrassed and impressed to answer him but responded with a light kiss on the lips. Jack rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and put the other on David's ass, pulling them closer.

"Jack," he paused. "Your neck."

"Fuck it," he gasped, pulling him so close they were on top of each other.

--

Snitch sighed as he leaned against the door. This wasn't going to plan. Mush was supposed to go into the auditorium, see Blink waiting for him there with a DVD documentary on Mokele-Mbembe and then immediately forgive him. He had _not_ expected Mush to kick him in the shins and try to stalk off. Blink had then went to hug him and he had actually _shrunk_ back. Snitch fell onto the matted carpet of the auditorium. This was trash. There was an argument going on backstage currently and every so often, Snitch would hear a shout of 'fuck!' or 'you asshole!' It was very weird since Mush was so sweet that it almost seemed impossible for him to be capable of swearing. Apparently, he wasn't buying that Blink hadn't wanted Bumlets to kiss him. Like he couldn't believe that _he _was what Blink wanted. Snitch shook his head. He was getting too involved and not thinking about his own love life or lack thereof. He had always wondered if he were bisexual or just bored and Dutchy was the least assholish out of his little circle of friends outside of Skittery who was too fucked up and in love with the psycho from Sicily to be a good conquest. Besides, if he got him, what would he do with him? He had had one girlfriend his entire life and the farthest they had gone was second base. Well…third but that was far, far from actual sex.

"I'm leaving," Mush came veering around the curtains, stomping away.

Blink was in hot pursuit.

"Mush, sweetie!" he called. "I love _you_. _YOU_!"

But he was hearing none of it and stormed away. Unfortunately, he forgot that Snitch had locked the doors—courtesy of a key stolen from the janitor with whom he was friends with—and rammed into them head-on before falling on the floor.

"My head!" he moaned.

Blink came up behind him and put his arms around him. "Hey, hey…I'll get you ice."

"I don't want ice from you!" he smacked him in the arm ineffectually.

"Listen, Mush," Snitch said. "Blink loves you. Bumlets kissed him. He didn't want it. Now kiss and make up because this place is seriously cramping all of our collective styles."

Mush laughed and rubbed his head. Blink shot him a grateful look. Mush turned on the carpet and it was like he was seeing Blink for the first time. Blink tilted his face up a little since he was merely squatting while Mush was sitting on the floor. Then their lips met. Snitch could've sworn he heard a canned 'awww' echo throughout the ancient theater.

--

"I think that actually made my neck hurt less," Jack arched his back and yawned, slowly unfurling himself from the couch and batting the hair with balled fists like a playful kitten.

David laughed from his spot on the floor. During their tryst on the threadbare couch in the apartment, he had toppled off. Jack had indeed been right. After the first time, sex was a lot easier.

"I think I like angry sex," he remarked, reaching for his underwear.

"It's the best kind outside of make-up sex," Jack explained, rubbing his neck and turning it from side to side. "I think the pain's faded for now at least. Wanna have another go?"

David shook his head. He wouldn't have minded having more sex but he was exhausted.

"I'm good," he said. "What do you want to do? Watch a movie or something?"

Jack pulled his own underwear on and flipped on the TV. For some reason, TVLand was on and playing an episode of _The Partridge Family_. Jack pulled his sweatpants back on and pulled his legs into a cross-legged position, patting the cushions next to him. David finished fastening his jeans and was pulling his shirt on as he stumbled onto the couch, half in and half out of his shirt. Then they proceeded to do the completely pedestrian thing as watch post-coital sitcoms courtesy of the seventies and eighties, curled in each other's arms.

--

"Where did I go wrong?" Sarah's mother sobbed into her hands.

Sarah pulled the afghan around her tighter and his her lip.

"Mom, I'm still a virgin," she insisted.

"It doesn't matter!" she wailed. "You were _going_ to be having sex with that, that, that _boy_!"

"That boy has a name," Morris grumbled from the couch.

Sarah shot him a you're-making-things-worse look and he went back to staring at the carpet.

"Mama," she tried again. "We were…"

Okay, there was no way she could talk her way out of this. David, maybe, since he was the golden boy but not her. Well, maybe if her mother hadn't caught them _right about_ to have sex. But, as it stood, she was utterly screwed and not in the way she had planned to be.

--

"This is possibly the stupidest place I've ever been," Pie Eater remarked. "If the flashing lights don't cause a seizure, they'll cause you to kill yourself."

Dutchy and Bumlets nodded in agreement. The only reason they had even gone to the mall was because Bumlets's mother didn't want Bryan—who was a shocking nine minutes younger than Bumlets—to go on his own. So the three of them were stuck there until Bryan finished his game of DDR.

"I don't get this game," Dutchy stated. "You step on arrows and dance? What is _that_?"

Of course, he didn't tell them that he used to trip on acid and jump wildly on DDR machines in his wild days. That would mar his reputation in a heartbeat. No, less than a heartbeat.

"Most definitely," Pie agreed. "Hey Bry! Go skateboard or something so we can go to Barnes and Noble."

Bryan stopped and immediately his score dropped and he failed. Bumlets, Pie and Dutchy burst into laughter. Bryan's cheeks heated up and he stomped away.

"Aw," Dutchy cooed. "Come back, Bry. Go dance to your Japanese trash!"

He felt kind of shitty about it but Bryan wasn't exactly his most favorite person in the world.

"We should go follow him," Bumlets said. "Or my mother will have a coronary."

"He's sixteen," Pie rolled his eyes. "He's a big boy. Now come on. I have a yen for a frozen cheesecake Blizzard. Let's go to Dairy Queen."

"Done," Dutchy said automatically.

"Done," Bumlets agreed warily.

They waited for the 'and done' of Skittery but then remembered that he was hanging out with Blink and Snitch now. The blonde had stolen _two_ of their friends. As they passed Bryan on their way out, Bumlets held up ten fingers and pointed the ground to say 'meet here at ten'. Bryan gave him a thumbs up and went out of the mall to go skateboarding.

"Your brother's peculiar," Pie Eater stated.

"And you state the obvious," Dutchy rolled his eyes. "Come on boys."

--

Bryan went up and down in the parking lot of the mall, feeling more than a little steamed. What right did his brother's stupid friends have to treat him like shit? None at all. Why did they put on airs when they all lived on the Lower Eastside? And what, most of all, made Byron better than _him_? He angrily did a kickflip over a speed bump and kept going wildly near the end of the parking lot, veering crazily in and out through parked cars. Then he heard the loud screech of tires from somewhere behind him accompanied by loud music and the laughter that only drunken people could muster. He saw the headlights a minute too late and tried to veer to the side of the speeding car. The surprised look on the driver's face was the last thing he saw.

--

"Hold me now! Warm my heart! Stay with me!" Race sang happily to himself as he tried to finish up his homework.

The easy sounding task was proving to be difficult, especially with Race's frequent breaks and that he was easily distracted. This time, by Spot. Images of his face kept intruding Race's otherwise completely focused…did he do laundry tonight? He shook his head. Focus! What had Spot been wearing today? It had been a tank top right? Yeah…with tight ass jeans and…FOCUS! Racetrack shook his head violently and went back to his assignment. What class was it for? History? Was he _in_ history this year?

"This sucks," he moaned and turned on the TV.

Per usual, one of those celebrity poker shows was on that he was addicted to. Race shoved the pencil back into his notebook and trained his eyes on the TV even though his thoughts were on one thing and one thing only…how to get Spot Conlon off his Jack obsession and into his bed.


	14. From Simple Chemical Charlotte

When Morris trudged into the crowded apartment well past midnight, he was only mildly surprised to see Oscar still up. However, he was more than mildly surprised to see him strumming a guitar.

"Where'd you get that guitar?" he flopped tiredly on the bed. "And why are you playing it?"

Oscar rolled his eyes. "Because _Luca_ plays guitar and papa wants me to be like _Luca_. Meaning that he wants to show up Uncle Nino. Problem is, I suck at it."

As if to prove his point, he played a very slow, out of tune version of what Morris could only guess was "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" before throwing the strap over his head.

"Okay, well where did papa get the guitar?"

"It fell offa truck," Oscar explained. "Just like everything else we own."

In unison, their eyes skirted to the twelve, boxed clock radios piled in the corner of their bedroom and the extra microwave boxes in their closet.

"We are too fucking guido," Morris remarked.

"Word," Oscar shoved the guitar to the side. "I will fucking learn to play that."

"Sure you will," Morris said boredly, only caring that his brother hadn't wondered why—

"So what happened with Sarah?" Oscar arched his back to stretch. "You two fuck yet?"

He gave him a dirty look to which Oscar fielded with a laugh.

"That's a no. Loser."

"I fucking hate you."

--

Bumlets lay in his bed, clutching the sheets and trying to ignore his mother's sobbing in the next room. Images of last night kept flooding back into his mind. Of he and his friends laughing at Bryan, kicking him out. Of leaving the Dairy Queen only to find everyone running for the exits. At first, they had thought it was some lame celebrity from _One Tree OC Grassi_ or something but these people hadn't been happy. After Dutchy questioned a guy bolting towards the door, he had explained that some kid had been splattered by a drunk driver in the parking lot. Some kid on a skateboard.

Bumlets let go of the sheets since his hands were starting to ache. It was all his fault. He killed his brother. He had laughed at him and forced him to go outside and, ultimately, killed him. He rolled onto his side. Even his posters were giving him dirty looks. Nikki Sixx was shaking his head solemnly from the poster on the back of the door. Bill Idol was giving him a dirty look instead of his trademark sneer. He deserved it. He had killed his brother all because he couldn't step down off of the pedestal for one second. Just like he had done with Alex. So he was just a failure all around? That was fantastic. He should write that down. He was a failure and a murderer and Alex wouldn't speak to him. His life _rocked_. Granted, there were plenty of people much more worse off than Bumlets—he should know, he often had debates about them—but, at that moment, he couldn't think of any.

--

"So you've slept with Jack," Skittery remarked. "Why don't you just come out already?"

David sighed and rearranged the pickles on the open face of his grilled cheese sandwich.

"It's not that simple. If I tell my parents I'm gay," David sighed and rolled his eyes. "I'll end up singing the tune of that Simple Plan song."

"'Perfect'?" Blink asked.

"No," Skittery shook his head. "Good Charlotte sings that."

"Aren't Good Charlotte the ones from Canada?" Snitch offered.

"That's My Chemical Romance," Blink corrected. "They're the ones that sing 'The Anthem', right?"

"No, that's From First to Last," Skittery stated.

"Oh who cares?" David fumed. "They're all the same band!"

"Mrowr," Blink smiled.

David frowned. Blink looked infinitely happier and he definitely knew why. The second the four of them entered the courtyard, he and Mush had pretty much been joined at the mouth. Somehow, though, he had managed to use his own oxygen enough to sit with them at lunch. Mush had to go to the library because they were getting some book he wanted in and, of course, Jack was most likely in the boys' bathroom, smoking. So the four of them sat looking like normal boys that even could've passed for straight—although David wasn't sure about Snitch.

"I'm not coming out," he repeated.

"Good to know," Blink snatched a cucumber out of David's salad and popped it into his mouth.

David gave him a dirty look.

"What? You weren't gonna eat it, were you?"

--

"You were supposed to be watching him," Bumlets's overly dramatic mother wailed.

"Mother," he tried. "Bryan is…was…sixteen. He could fend for himself."

"Obviously not," she dabbed her eyes with the linen napkin they stole from an Olive Garden. "You were supposed to _stay together_. Where were you?"

Bumlets nervously shifted in the kitchen chair. He felt bad enough. Did his mother have to rub it in?

"We were…at Dairy Queen."

She burst into tears again and clutched the locket at her throat that held pictures of both Bumlets and Bryan when they were little. He lowered his head, not wanting to look at her. He didn't even want to look at himself. To pardon his French, he had completely fucked everything up in the worst possible way.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm going to go to my room now…"

Without waiting for her to answer—pretty hard to get one since she was sobbing—he went into his bedroom. Carefully, he examined his face in the mirror. He looked too much like him. Even without the standard-issue skater hair, there was no mistaking them for anything other than brothers. Bumlets pushed his hair back and stared at his reflection. Maybe it was grief, but he was suddenly consumed with the best possible idea. He slipped into the bathroom.

--

"I feel like shit," Pie Eater declared.

"Vernacular," Dutchy commented. "And so do I which means yours is not attributed to that disgusting piece of filth you just ate."

"Shut up, Palanski."

"Admit it, your life revolves around your perfectly sculpted stomach for which I hate you for," he cleaned his glasses idly with the hem of his Polo shirt.

Pie paused. "We're avoiding the issue here. As it stands, we're murderers."

"We weren't driving the car," Dutchy tried.

"We forced him out there," he insisted. "We suck."

They sat in silence for a minute and stared at each other.

"We do suck," Dutchy said quietly. "We're assholes."

"Utter assholes," Pie Eater agreed. "We just fit the archetype of teenage boys to a younger sibling."

"By nine minutes."

"Regardless," he pushed his hair back. "We're horrible people. I think I'm going to be sick."

"Do you know when Bummers is coming back?" Dutchy asked glumly.

"I texted him this morning," Pie Eater shrugged. "He said something about coming to Homecoming this Saturday I think. His dad's making him go."

Dutchy nodded and fiddled with the little Polo player on his shirt, nibbling his lip. Pie fiddled nervously with his fruit pie wrapper. Their self-disgust was almost palpable.

--

Sarah pulled her covers over her head. She felt horrible for skipping school but she felt worse about her mother. She had already been regretting their move to the city. Now she was terrified that Sarah was going to get pregnant or all matter of icky STDs. Her argument that she had yet to have sex seemed not to matter as Esther Jacobs continually wailed about her children. Les was one step away from becoming a drug addict, apparently. David was never home and now Sarah was becoming a whore. She wanted to at least apologize but the thing was…it wasn't to her mother. She wanted to call Morris and apologize to _him_ for what happened. God, did that make her a bad person?

--

"Come on, Davey," Jack chided. "It'll be fun."

David frowned. A lot of things were fun. Watching old sitcoms was fun, talking with his apparent new friends was fun and, as he discovered, sex was fun. However, what Jack was currently suggesting did _not_ sound like fun.

"It will be," Racetrack agreed. "We _all_ did it. And 'sides, Jack has to practice. He's only pierced himself. Spot'n'me got ours done professionally."

Spot nodded, tongue too swollen to talk. It was around six that evening and Jack had invited him over. David has suspected that it was for another round with each other. It had been so Jack could announce that he was going to become a tattoo artist/body piercer. Jack's nose was red around the silver hoop piercing the flesh.

"It's not that hard," he explained. "Alls I needed was a safety pin, an eraser and a shitload of paper towels."

"And vodka," Race added. "But he didn't use it for himself."

"And ink for the tattoos," was what David could only guess was what Spot said.

Jack held up a little vat of calligraphy ink. He stared at them, wondering if his nervousness was tangible.

"Where'd you get yours, Race?" he asked, trying to mask his discomfort.

Race pulled up the No Doubt t-shirt he wore to show the piercing on his nipple. David blushed.

"Come on," Jack smiled. "Where do you want it? I know already that I can do noses."

He put his hand defensively on his nose.

"I don't want to bring any more attention to my nose."

"Okay, where then?"

His mother would have about seven heart attacks if he got a piercing.

"My mom…"

Jack smiled and leapt from his spot on the floor, putting his arms around him.

"Say no more Davey. Lift your shirt and," he handed him the bottle of vodka. "Drink this."

"Why?"

"Makes the pain numb," he rolled his eyes. "I'm giving you a tattoo. I did ours."

He showed his bicep where the word 'COWBOY' was scratched crudely in black ink. Spot pulled down the collar of his shirt where 'SPOT' crawled up his collarbone. Race showed his own name on his inner arm.

"Okay…" he bit his lip. "Why not?"

Twenty minutes of excruciating pain later, David stared down at the area below his navel.

"PAVIP?" David groaned. "Jack, what the hell does PAVIP mean?"

Jack shrugged innocently. With that look on his face, David half-expected him to be whistling innocuously as well.

"I guess I haven't mastered Ds yet," he shrugged again. "Want me to try again?"

"No," David said quickly, pulling his shirt down.

Jack suddenly curled up against him. "I'll make it better."

He nibbled his earlobe a little which earned a balled-up, bloody paper towel thrown at his head courtesy of Racetrack.

"No making out while others are present," he smiled.

Jack whipped his head around and glared as if putting Race back in his place with his eyes. He held his hands up.

"Aw, geez," he muttered in a horrible impression of John Travolta. "Sorry, Jack."

Jack smiled and turned back to David, kissing his jaw line a little. David noticed Race laughing and elbowing Spot who could only smack him rather than say anything thanks to his recently pierced tongue. However, his eyes were trained on him and Jack, regularly large eyes narrowed into tiny little slits. He would've asked him 'what?' but it was too late. Jack had managed to capture his lips and put his hand on the still burning with pain area so close to his crotch and ceased all words from coming out.

--

"Homecoming should be fun," Mush curled against Blink.

"For those who have dates," Skittery grumbled.

Snitch nodded his agreement and elbowed him playfully.

"Hey Skittery, what do you think'd happen if you asked the Psycho from Sicily?" a smile curved on his lips.

"Would you please stop calling him that?" he snapped.

Mush looked up and blinked his eyes as he often did, sticking his lip out in a fashion that made him look dumber than he actually was.

"Who?"

"Oscar DeLancey!" Snitch giggled. "Skittery loooooves him!"

Skittery reached around Blink and smacked Snitch in the back of the head. How had he found out? Had he been that obvious? Who else knew? Were his days numbered? Were Oscar and Morris sharpening their axes to kill him?

"Shut up, Snitch," he growled.

Snitch rubbed the back of his head and leaned back.

"Aw, come on man," he smirked. "I'm sure he's just a major closet case. I've seen him checking out your ass."

Foolish hope flashed in his chest as he thought about Oscar checking out his ass. Maybe there was hope…

"I don't see why you like him," Blink put in. "Sure he's cute but they don't call him the Psycho from Sicily for a reason. Didn't he get, like, suspended in seventh grade for jamming a sharpened pencil in a kid's ear?"

"Yeah but his parents didn't press charges," Skittery waved a hand.

"And the whole shop thing," Mush added, eyes wide.

Skittery sighed.

"Hey," he said angrily. "I don't make fun of any of _your_ crushes. Blink, didn't you tell me that you liked that one guy from _That Thing You Do_?"

Blink shoved him. "Yeah but he never threatened to take a jigsaw to someone's head…from my knowledge."

"And he has me!" Mush threw his arms around him.

Skittery slumped on the couch. They'd never understand.


	15. Well I Don't Know Her Name

"Isn't Homecoming supposed to be semi-formal?" David asked, watching Jack tie his bandana around his head.

Jack pulled a fringed suede vest over his awful, yellow paisley button-down shirt. The entire outfit, including his nose ring of course, looked almost vile. But, then again, the seventies weren't really about cleanliness.

"We always have a decade-themed Homecoming," Race explained, looking like he just strolled out of a roller rink. "Last year was 80s. You should've seen Jake Mathers dance like Michael Jackson. Pure awesomeness."

Spot, who was dressed much like Jack, just clicked his tongue ring against the back of his teeth, looking pissed per usual. David was dressed as well in an almost, too-tight-to-breathe striped polo shirt and bellbottoms.

"Another way to show how awful our school is," Spot said, still looking pissed.

Jack laughed and put an arm around him. "Someone needs a muzzle."

Spot shoved his arm away but he was blushing.

"I need a piss," he mumbled, stomping into the bathroom.

"_Somebody's_ panties are in a bunch," Jack mused.

--

"If have to hear 'Ring My Bell' one more fucking time, I'm going to go psycho on this place," Oscar threw his cigarette to the ground.

"Wouldn't be the first time," some kid mumbled as they walked by.

Oscar went to lunge at him but the tight, Keith-Partridge-grade pants he was wearing inhibited him from moving too much. Instead, he flicked his freshly lit cigarette at the kid. It was some lame sophomore anyway. His date, a former girlfriend by the name of Nichole, giggled into her palm. He wondered how she could even breathe. The red dress she wore was approaching a loincloth in length and looked too tight to wear underwear. One, it wasn't 70s and two, he'd have so much trouble taking it off later that night. Sure, he was hiding his obvious lust for Skittery by sleeping with random girls but if it kept him from fagging out, he'd risk the STDs and pregnancies that could turn his life into a Lifetime movie.

"I love when you threaten people like that," she cooed into his ear.

No she didn't. She probably didn't even know his name. Just that he was "the Psycho from Sicily".

"Let's dance," Oscar said brusquely. "I'm bored."

Nichole took his head and led him out into the dance floor, hips moving slowly, teasingly from side to side. Thing was, they weren't doing anything for him.

--

"Whose bright idea was it to get ready at Spot's place?" Racetrack bemoaned. "We have to cross the fucking bridge!"

Jack ignored him and David was too busy staring out the window to hear him. Spot, however, probably could hear him and didn't want to ignore him but was too pissed to be shunned to the backseat of the Aerostar to say anything. Racetrack was about to repeat himself when David tapped the window. They all—including Spot—looked out to see a gray haired man dangling something white and filmy off of the bridge.

"Looks like he's killing his wife," Jack stated.

"I think it's a net," David offered.

"Well," Jack scoffed. "I don't know her name."

The entire van—once again, including Spot—burst into raucous laughter. When they managed to calm down, Race spoke again.

"Jack, you've been uncharacteristically chipper these past few days. What gives?"

Jack turned in the seat to face him, mouth split wide in a grin.

It's 'cause I have a boyfriend now but not only that...it's just that I deserve happiness 'cause I've paid my dues. Time after time. I've done my sentence. But committed no crime."

Race and David groaned but begrudgingly joined in.

"And bad mistakes, I've made a few…I've had my share of sand kicked in my face but I've come throooouuuugh!"

"And it goes on and on and on and on," Race sang in falsetto.

They didn't even get to the main part. The song evaporated into laughter as Jack pulled off the bridge and into Manhattan.

"Okay," David said, still smiling. "I think we just got the Loser of the Year award."

Jack faked surprise. "Oh no, that means Swifty will have to abdicate it."

"Wow, you know the world abdicate?" David teased.

If it were anyone else, Jack would've showed them who the boss and king of the school was—Race knew—but since David was his boyfriend, he was let off the hook.

"Hey, I'm in _your_ AP class thank you very much," he smirked.

"Fine…who's Swifty?"

"He's on the track team. He's really fast," Spot explained. "He owes it to Oscar DeLancey though. He was the kid who got the pencil shoved in his ear in seventh grade. Now, whenever he saw Oscar, he'd take off as fast as he could."

"Why's he a loser?"

Jack shrugged. "He just is."

David furrowed his brow. That didn't sound right. Of course, he wasn't going to say anything. There was a lot about the dichotomy of the school he didn't understand and he wasn't going to make himself look like a moron for pressing. Instead, he just stared out the window as the van made its way to the school.

--

"Well where is he?" Pie Eater checked his watch, frowning.

Dutchy idly scratched his head under his itchy polyester hat.

"I have no clue," he stated. "Maybe his mom wouldn't let him out."

They both nodded in agreement that Bumlets's overdramatic mother would probably sequester him away until a month after the funeral to show the family's grieving when a boy caught their eye.

"My, my," Pie Eater smirked. "Somebody went grave robbing. Sid Vicious's ghost must be irked."

Dutchy laughed as they surveyed the boy. A few of their classmates—including Skittery—had gone for the punk thing for the dance but this boy had surpassed it. He had a green Mohawk, a real one, not one of those "faux-hawks" that wannabe punk rockers like Billie Joe Armstrong bore. He wore a cut up sweatshirt that looked like it had once been part of the school's winter gym uniform under a denim jacket with a bike chain looped through the buttonhole at the top. He wore what looked like a kilt over torn jeans and thick-soled creepers.

"I wanna be sedated," Dutchy sang.

Pie Eater's laugh caught in his throat when the boy turned and started towards them, shoulders hunched. This punk boy wasn't just someone who was unaware that it was no longer 1977. This punk boy was Bumlets. Dutchy's jaw actually dropped and disbelieving eye rubbing seemed to be in the immediate future.

"Bummers?" Pie Eater had blanched, which did not sit well with the yellow polyester shirt he wore.

"Hey," he greeted, voice low.

"Questing for anarchy in the UK?" Dutchy queried, fingering the lapel of his jacket.

"No confusing," he mumbled.

They exchanged a look of sheer confusion and Dutchy knew that Pie Eater was thinking the same thing he was: what would be the best moment to back away?

"What happened?" Pie demanded. "It looks like Generation X threw up all over you."

Bumlets shrugged, chain jingling. "No confusing."

They exchanged a confused look. If Bumlets's idea wasn't to confuse them, he was failing miserably. Maybe, Dutchy thought, if he started speaking in complete sentences, they'd get it.

"What?"

"No confusing," he repeated.

"With what?" Dutchy asked, exasperated.

"Him."

The realization hit them hard. Oh, so he wouldn't be confused with Bryan. Like he ever was. Their styles were completely different. Bumlets was clean while Bryan looked like he ransacked the dressing room of _Viva La Bam_. Sure, naked, they were easily confused but still. Bumlets seemed to not be playing with a full deck.

"Okay, maybe someone wasn't ready to come back to school," Pie said simply.

Bumlets shrugged again and shuffled away.

"Does Skittery still have that rehab place's number?"

"It'd come in handy."

"It would."

They stared at the skull silk-screened on the back of the jacket and exchanged another look.

"That boy is in serious need of an intervention," Dutchy declared.

"But I'm too sick by that outfit to give one."

"You're an asshole."

"And murderer."

"As am I."

"On both fronts?"

"On both fronts."

"Then we have much in common."

"We do."

"We should wed."

"Let's."

Their quick repartee was completed by Dutchy jumping, bride-style, into Pie's arms. They gave each other another look.

"We're awful people, aren't we?" Dutchy queried.

"We are," Pie agreed.

"We're going to the utmost fieriest depths of Hell for this, aren't we?"

"We are."

--

Spot slumped angrily on the bleachers, watching Jack and David dance. To a goddamn slow song too. It was almost too sickening for words. What only made matters worse was Race constantly snickering and elbowing him while pointing at Jack. Spot had abandoned his seventies garb about an hour ago in favor of his _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ t-shirt which technically stayed to theme because it came out in the seventies and a pair of regular jeans. He felt out of place.

"Will you stop that?" he snapped at Race for what felt like the millionth time. "I get it."

Race held his hands up. "Touchy touchy, Conlon."

Spot felt his fingers curl into a fist and was getting ready to show Race just how touchy he was when the Italian boy actually got a good idea.

"Kiss me," he suggested. "Make Jack jealous."

Spot watched Jack turn to face them…sort of. He was facing their general direction but staring right into David's eyes. How sickening. Hell, he was a desperate boy. Desperate people did desperate things during desperate measures. However, he was fairly certain that this kind of kiss-payback thing was just another rehash of something so dumb as seen on teen trash like _Beverly Hills 90210_ or something of that ilk. Still, if it worked for Zack or whatever the hell crap 90s name the main character had, it could certainly work for him. He turned to face Race and tilted his chin up. Something in Race's eyes made him feel kind of bad. Like, he really looked like he wanted to kiss him and not just to make Jack jealous and Spot was just using him in their odd chess game. Of course, Race seemed to _want _to be used and he wasn't going to deny him anything. Still, Spot bit his lip before bringing their lips together. He watched Jack out of the corner of his eye. If jealousy was ripping through his body, he did a hell of a good job of hiding it. A very good job seeing as he was apparently trying to inhale David's whole face.

--

"I like to hear some funky Dixieland, pretty mama come'n'take me by the hand," Snitch sang.

"By the hand, hand, take me by the hand pretty mama. Come and dance with your daddy all night long," Blink joined in.

"Would you two shut up?" Skittery snapped. "I'm pissed!"

Snitch held his hands up defensively. "I'm sorry, your majesty. I'm sorry that our joviality has interrupted your strict Homecoming regiment stewing and staring angrily at Nichole Johnson grind her ass into Oscar's pelvis."

Skittery gave him a dirty look and popped his anti-depressants into his mouth.

"Huh?" Mush furrowed his brow.

Blink laughed and slung an arm around his shoulders before kissing his temple. Skittery glanced away, obviously jealous. Snitch smiled deviously and looked back to Nichole in that skintight dress erring on a bodysuit. He bet she wasn't wearing any underwear. Time for a bit of a wardrobe malfunction. Skittery would _so_ be eternally grateful for it. He pushed himself away from the bleachers in the gym and slunk into the crush of people. Nichole had momentarily moved her ass away from Oscar's crotch and was doing some shitty belly dancer moves to 'Everlasting Love'. Snitch snuck up behind her and grabbed the hem of her skirt lightly. It was so short, he didn't even have to bend down. Just as he figured, the dress was nearly suctioned to her body and some of the seams had already started to pop. All it needed was a good tug.

_Rriiiippp!_

The dress became a skirt and top just like that. It ripped clear around the middle and was stuck to her thighs, causing Nichole to tumble…and gave the whole school a good glance of the full moon. Immediately, everyone started laughing and the straight guys, few that there were, began yelling out catcalls as Nichole's face began to match her dress. Snitch quickly skirted back to where the others were.

"You're going to Hell," Blink stated simply. "It's as simple as that."

He blew a kiss at Blink. "See ya there, Blinky."

Then he kicked Skittery roughly and gave a 'go to him' motion with his hands that he couldn't ignore unless he wanted to be called a chickenshit for the rest of his life.

"Yeah," Blink nodded. "Definitely going to Hell."

--

Oscar lit a cigarette and leaned against the back of the school building. Not only was his date in the bathroom, nursing the shreds of dignity she had left, he wasn't going to get any tonight. Meaning he'd have to be alone to think about fucking Skittery no matter how much he told himself that he didn't like that fucktard.

"That was a shame."

"Fuck me gently with a chainsaw," Oscar muttered under his breath.

"Hey, that's from _Heathers_."

"It is, fagola."

He looked up to see Skittery leaning casually against the wall looking like Sid fucking Vicious. And, unfortunately, it worked on him.

"Sorry about your date," he seemed awkward.

Oscar shrugged and held out his pack. "Smoke?"

Skittery took one and put it to his lips. Oscar tossed him a lighter. He inhaled and handed it back.

"Thanks," he said. "I haven't smoked in awhile. Hospital, you know."

"Yeah."

Oscar popped his knuckles nervously and looked at him. He waited until Skittery let the cigarette drop from his mouth so it dangled from his hand at his thigh. He took his own from his mouth. There was only one way to find out. Plus, if he told, he'd just feed him his dick. Oscar grabbed Skittery roughly by the front of his shirt and kissed him.


	16. Queer as Black Sunshine

Skittery's breath caught in his throat and—mingled with the remaining smoke—nearly made him cough. He had to stop himself from blinking his eyes in disbelief. The feel of his awful rayon-poly-blend pants on his naked knees as they poked through denim, the feel of his lips on his, the taste of smoke…it was all real. And so was the shoving and swearing that followed.

"Fuck!" Oscar shoved him hard, so hard that Skittery toppled backwards and had to smack his hand on the wall to keep from falling on his ass. "Fuck! Goddamnit!"

"What?" was all he could manage, resisting the urge to touch his lips. "What do you—"

Oscar pushed his hair back and sucked hard on his cigarette. Skittery's lay on the ground. He stomped it with the sole of his left combat boot.

"I'm not a fag," he said, exhaling smoke into the air like some kind of dragon.

"Could've fooled me," Skittery shot back. "You're the one who kissed _me_."

"I'm not a fag," he repeated. "So…fuck you and that shit."

Then he stormed away like a little boy, actually stomping his feet…a mighty feat in those Keith Partridge pants. Skittery stared at his dead cigarette on the ground and then back up at Oscar, mouth agape. His heart was racing as he plucked his cell phone out. With trembling fingers, he sent a frantic text message.

**Skittery:** put me on SW

**Snitch:** por que?

**Blink:** ?

**Skittery: **Sni know what you said about Oscar being in the closet?

**Snitch:** yea

**Skittery: **well boy's as queer as black sunshine and I'm getting my Prozac drip installed tomorrow

**Blink: **What?

**Skittery: **meet me in the front of the school

**Blink: **done

**Snitch: **done

He closed his phone and breathed heavily, verging on hyperventilating, for a couple of minutes before making his way to the front of the school.

--

"Please," Snitch said. "Making out at dances is so freshmen year. We're upperclassmen now, we have to have dignity."

David rolled his eyes. "Most apologies, I don't know Manhattan etiquette, oh mighty Snitch."

Mush lifted his head off of Blink's shoulder and smiled. "I can't blame him. Jack's hot."

Blink feigned being appalled.

"Doth mine ears deceive me?" he asked. "Doth my lovemuffin-eth have eyes for another?"

Mush giggled like a little kid and shook his head.

"Nooo…unless, you know, Becks becomes available," he smiled. "I only have eyes for you, Blinky."

Blink gave an elaborate sigh to which everyone fielded with a laugh.

"Great, I'm second-string to a footballer!" he bemoaned with exaggerated agony.

"I doubt Becks is having a sexual crisis," Snitch assured Blink. "He's happily married to Posh."

"You know," David said thoughtfully. "Becks is hot and all, but I'd take that one Italian soccer player over him. Luca Toni."

Mush's eyes lit up and he nodded energetically.

"Oh yeah!" then he paused and his face darkened a watt. "Wait, David. Does Jack know that you lust after other guys 'cause he seems like he's really the possessive type. Of course, it's someone completely unattainable. I mean, no offense to David 'cause David's pretty cute but he's still unattainable and, like, older than us so it' never work. Unless they don't have statutory rape in Europe. Do they? I think they do…what?"

The three of them burst into a round of laughter.

"How many little Mushes are having a conversation in your head right now?" Snitch joked.

Mush blushed but it was quickly kissed away by Blink.

"Hey!" David interjected. "I thought making out in public was for freshmen?"

Blink surfaced just long enough to give David the finger.

"How can you all be enjoying yourselves?"

In unison, they turned to see Skittery walking towards them. Obviously, he was having some post-kiss, apocalyptic moment. Snitch was already bored. He didn't see what the big deal was. He _wanted_ Oscar to kiss him and now that he had, he looked like he had been given a week to live. He began to hum the traditional funeral march but was silenced by a glacial look from Skittery.

"How was the kiss?" Blink asked.

Another look that could freeze piss.

"He stormed off at the end, spouting that he wasn't fag," Skittery slumped onto the ground. "My life is trash."

Blink's smile turned into a worried expression. "Okay, I'm going over to your house right now and commandeering any and all pills that you can swallow."

"I'm not going to try and kill myself again over this," he insisted.

"Again?" David's eyes bugged. "You mean there was a first time?"

"I don't have time for a history lesson," Skittery snapped. "Blink, explain it to him on the way to my place?"

"Done."

With that, the five of them rose and started away. Blink kept one arm around Skittery's shoulders which, under any other circumstances, would've been slightly funny due to their difference in height—the usual minor difference accentuated by Skittery's combat boots.

--

"The monkeys stand for honesty," Race remarked.

"Giraffes are insincere," Jack added.

"And the elephants are kindly," Spot finished. "But they're dumb."

They cracked up and Spot let out a breath of fresh air. It was back to just being the three of them. No more of Jack's annoying little ball and chain. Blink Bennetson had rushed in and grabbed him away from sucking Jack's face meaning Spot could finally let Race up for air. Then they had blown off the rest of the dance—deeming it beneath them—and snuck into the Central Park Zoo. Of course, Jack and Race got changed into street clothes in the van…a dual image that made Spot very happy.

Jack jumped up onto a cement bench and turned their speak-singing into full-on singing.

"Orangutans are skeptical!" he sang in a voice that echoed off of the empty trashcans. "of changes in their cages! And the zookeeper is very fond of rum!"

He leapt from the bench and grabbed Spot's hands, moving them from side to side in an awkward, jerky dance.

"Zebras are reactionaries," he sang loudly into Spot's ear. "Antelopes are missionaries!"

"Pigeons plot in secrecy," Spot begrudgingly sang back. "And hamsters turn on frequently."

If Spot hadn't been questioning Jack's sanity before, he most certainly was now. It just wasn't normal for a seventeen-year-old boy to be dancing around an abandoned zoo, belting out Simon and Garfunkel. Still, even if Jack was a hop, skip and a jump away from needing to be fit for a straightjacket, at least he wasn't fucking David at this point in time.

"We are so facing jail for this," Race said gleefully, twisting the cap off of his beer.

Jack leapt away from Spot and squatted by where Race was, giddy from whatever he had ingested already that night.

"We'll just say we're part of the Nocturnal Zoo Animal Watchers Guild," he explained.

"They'll wanna see badges," Race pointed out. "You know for authentication or whatever."

"Badges?" Jack scoffed. "We don't need no stinkin' badges!"

Spot swore that his heart actually skipped a beat. Jack was quoting _Blazing Saddles_. He wanted to tear his clothes off right then and tackle him to the ground but three things stopped him: he was wearing his favorite shirt, Race was there and, the ever so important one, Jack had a boyfriend. So he clamped down on his lower lip and stuck his hand out for a beer.

--

Oscar ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He knew better than to look for his brother's car. Apparently, he and Sarah were waiting until Monday to give it another go and they had decided to forgo Homecoming in favor of it being more romantic. Of course, it was her influence. He knew that if Morris had his way, she'd be fucked so much by this time, she'd be pregnant four times over.

Oscar threw himself into the road to hail a cab, nearly killing himself in the process. As he got into the cab with its terrified driver, he started to wonder if that wouldn't be such a bad idea. Then, a split second later, he told himself to fuck off for sounding so emo. He rested his forehead against the cool pane of glass in the taxi. He had seriously fucked things up. His experiment had turned true…he was a fucking fag. The second their lips touched, he had gotten one hell of an erection. He slicked his tongue of his lips, wondering if the smoke he was tasting was his own or Skittery's. A sickening part of him prayed that it was the latter. Carefully, he reached under his shirt and pulled out the gold crucifix his Nona gave him that he wore more out of force of habit rather than actual spiritual belief. He wondered if the little gold cross would start to burn his flesh. Then he laughed out loud. He was a queer, not a fucking vampire. He tucked it back under his shirt and went back to stewing.

"You alright?" the cab driver asked. "You look troubled."

That was the understatement of the century.

"Just peachy," Oscar mumbled, not even able to make a smart comeback.

--

"David, I really don't like having a bunch of guys in here, scrutinizing what I'm going to wear tonight," Sarah bemoaned.

Snitch rolled his eyes from the bed. "Please, like we'd scrutinize."

"Yeah," Blink added. "We're gay, we're not the fab five."

Snitch let his jaw drop. "Am I included in this we?"

"Sni, you're as queer as black sunshine," he shot back, echoing Skittery's words from the frantic text message the night before.

"Speaking of Skit," Snitch took out his phone and quickly texted him. "I have him on suicide watch. Every twenty minutes I ask him if he's still alive."

David rolled his eyes. Still, he was glad that the three of them—plus Jack—were present. Sarah was going to lose her virginity tonight and he needed definite support so he didn't do something crazy like karate chop Morris's head off when he came in the door.

"What about this?" Jack held up a silky shell and short denim skirt that David had never seen before.

Sarah bit her lip and examined the light purple material. "Won't lavender make me look fat?"

Jack exhaled. "Sarah, sweets, if you don't look good in this, I'll show up to school naked for the next week."

Mush broke lingering eye contact with Sarah's poster of various shirtless hunks.

"Jack, you're an exhibitionist, you'd _like_ that," he smiled.

To that, Jack replied with a devilish smile and eyebrow wiggle. That alone nearly made David turn to JELL-O.

"Go Mush," Snitch congratulated.

Sarah dead-eyed him. "Shoes off of the bed."

He rolled his eyes. "Sorry if I soiled Blossom, Bubbles and Buttercup."

Her face heated up and he laughed. "Sorry, I couldn't resist."

Sarah opened her mouth to answer him back but the door buzzer cut her off.

"Crap!" she squealed. "He's here! You guys have to go."

David was about to protest but Snitch was already dragging him from the room. He stared back at his sister, knowing it was going to be the last time he'd see her like that. Virginal and such.

--

"I'm freezing," Pie Eater complained. "Whoever thought that it was a good idea to make Manhattan Octobers cold and rainy needs to be shot."

"Curse you Mother Nature," Dutchy jokingly raised a fist to the sky.

Pie rubbed his hands together for warmth before pulling his ski cap down lower.

"I think this is fruitless," he remarked. "We've been standing outside his apartment building for the past hour and a half and still have no idea how we're going to approach this."

"Well," Dutchy tapped his lower lip. "We could storm in there and tell him that looking like Heroin Bob is very out. And that Mohawks aren't allowed in the official fencing league."

"Is there even an official fencing league?"

"There could be."

"You're making that up."

"Does it show?"

Pie rolled his eyes, a gesture he usually reserved for Blink or Mush or, before Wednesday, Bryan.

"I think we should just—"

"Hey guys, waiting long?"

They turned in unison to see Bumlets standing behind them, carrying groceries. He was dressed in a variation of his Homecoming clothes although, they guessed, more casually. He wore no cap over that Mohawk though.

"No," Dutchy lied. "We just wanted to make sure you were okay. I mean, Friday…"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I was going through an existential funk. I'm marginally better now. At least I can form complete sentences."

They waited for a smile or a chuckle that would clue them in that he was making a joke but everything was said in an almost deadpan.

"That's good," Pie managed. "Um…wanna go up?"

He shook his head. "Not to my place. My neighbor, these are her groceries, will have us."

He put his key in and Pie and Dutchy followed him into the warmth of the crappy lobby. It came as no surprise that Bumlets didn't invite them to his home. He never did. It was as though he were ashamed of it.

"Hannah's nice," he said. "You know…"

He stopped himself and led them up the stairs. It was all Dutchy could do to stop from humming the _Halloween_ theme.

"This is too _Twilight Zone_," Pie whispered in his ear. "I'm waiting for Rod Sterling to come around the corner."

"More like _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_," Dutchy whispered back. "I'm waiting to see the pod this Bumlets came out of."

"Hey," Bumlets turned around. "Hannah has a great collection of movies. You know, film noir horror films and stuff. We could watch _Laura_ or _The Bad Seed_ or—"

"_Invasion of the Body Snatchers_," Dutchy offered.

If this registered anything, it didn't show and he nearly laughed at himself. Bumlets was grieving, he wasn't an alien. Jesus, he was starting to sound like Blink's little paranormal-obsessed boyfriend. He had to find a way to make Bumlets Bumlets again. It was seriously starting to creep him out.

"_The Bad Seed_ sounds good," Pie forced a smile.

Bumlets turned around and started back up the steps. They looked at each other and both began to hum Claire De La Lune as they followed him.


	17. More Betty White

"Uh-oh," Snitch crowed. "Orca's pissed!"

David rolled his eyes. "Snitch, why are we watching a movie in which an aquatic mammal kicks Dumbledore's ass?"

Snitch turned his grinning face towards him, eyes alight. "Because I used to watch this with my grandpa when I was little. I _love_ _Orca_!"

David rolled his eyes again and tried to pay attention to the movie. There were, however, two things distracting him: one, Sarah was planning on losing her virginity to Mr. could-get-her-pregnant-in-one-go and two, Jack's tongue was delving dangerously close to his ear. A third thing, actually, was that they were all crammed on the white leather couch in Skittery's apartment while he paced and wrung his hands and bemoaned his misfortune. To be honest, David didn't get it. So he was kissed and then shoved away, it wasn't the end of the world right?

"Wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend," Blink sang to Skittery. "And calm your prissy little ass down."

Skittery sighed and slumped into a chair.

"So you were kissed," Blink continued. "So Oscar's still a pathetic—albeit insane—closet-case. Don't get your panties in a knot over it. It's not your fault. Now shut up and watch the killer whale kill people."

And that pretty much settled it. Skittery piled onto the couch. David half-wanted to get up and race home to stop Sarah. However, he liked being in Jack's arms even though him licking the side of his face was kind of gross. That and…he didn't think he could get up with Skittery's legs draped across his lap.

"You taste good," Jack whispered hungrily into his ear.

"Jack," he blushed. "My friends are here."

"So?" he asked brightly and David could feel his grin.

He glanced up. "Skittery, we need your room."

Skittery sat up from his head being on Mush's lap. "No way. My dad'll freak…actually, he'll probably congratulate you…"

"At least we're not at my place," Blink remarked. "My mom would want to join in…you know, if she didn't think you were going to kill her."

"Shut up!" Snitch yelled. "Whale!"

And, in unison, they all fell silent.

--

"When are your parents coming home again?" Morris asked, whipping his shirt off and flinging it across the room.

"Late," Sarah assured him. "Very late."

"Finally," he said happily before lunging for her mouth.

Sarah fell with a small squeak onto the bed, gripping the belt loops right above his rear for dear life. She giggled inwardly and blushed as she felt his erection straining against his jeans and on her leg. She had never actually seen an actual penis before…discounting, of course, when she had to change Les's diaper. She let him undress her, trying to remain fragile and baby-birdlike in his arms. He carefully slipped the shell over her head and slipped her skirt down, playing with the waistband of her panties in a way that made her blush. She closed her eyes and rested her head on her pillow, right smack dab on Blossom's face. She felt his arms snake around her to unhook her bra.

"Hey, it's stuck."

Sarah opened her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Your bra…it won't come off," Morris leaned down and tugged on it with his teeth.

She sighed. This was not in the plan and it was definitely _not_ romantic for your boyfriend to be grunting and tugging like a teething puppy. Finally, Morris gave up and collapsed next to her.

"Mood ruined," Sarah sighed. "Here lies Sarah Jacobs who died with her virginity intact."

He stroked her hair and it made her crack a smile.

"We'll try next time," he promised. "At my place."

"And I won't wear a bra," she blurted out and immediately regretted it, seeing the lascivious grin form on his face.

"Mo," she changed the subject. "How many girls have you been with?"

He paled under his tan and Sarah immediately regretted asking the question, finding herself not wanting to know the answer.

"Truth?" he asked.

She nodded, wishing she had kept her mouth shut.

"Well," he rolled onto his back and started ticking off on his fingers. "Every girl in this school, minus this year's freshmen so, like, twelve. Then that one bio sub with the big knockers…Miss Larkson…that one chick I picked up at a Hootie and the Blowfish concert my parents dragged me to. Um, that one girl I hooked up with in an Arby's bathroom…"

He stopped talking when he noticed the mortified look on Sarah's face.

"That many," she blushed. "Am I just…a you know."

"A what?"

"Another notch?"

"Sarah, you're…" he bit his lip.

That was all she needed to see. Sarah jumped from the bed and started pulling her clothes on.

"Sarah," Morris objected. "You're not! You know, I've never actually had a girlfriend before. I've just fucked girls. Okay, bad word choice or whatever but—"

"Get out," she pointed at her door.

He got out of bed and kneeled on the ground. Sarah looked away.

"Please," he pleaded. "I'm not just looking for a fuck, honest."

He made the sign of the cross. She refused to give in. How many times had he said this to other girls? Had he been kneeling on a desk or on the floor of an Arby's bathroom when he said these stupid things to girls?

"This is…" she said diplomatically. "A lot to take in. I mean, how many have there been all together?"

"You're going to smack me across the face if I tell you."

"No," she said firmly. "I'm not. Tell me."

"Are so!" he shot back.

"Am not!"

"Are so!"

"Am not!"

"Are so!"

"Damnit Morris, just tell me!"

He sighed, puffing his cheeks out before answering.

"Thirty."

Sarah smacked him across the face.

--

"I'm sittin' in the railway station, gotta ticket for my destination," Oscar sang into his empty room, trying to make chords flow on his guitar.

So far, all he could play was the beginning of 'Smoke on the Water' and 'Ironman'. He was a closet fan of Simon and Garfunkel—for which, if anyone found out, he'd have to shove a corkscrew up their nose—and was trying to figure out the chords for 'Homeward Bound' but to no avail. His thoughts kept going to Skittery. Had he done the right thing, storming away like a petulant child after he mauled him with his lips? Probably not. He stared at his cell phone and wondered what his phone number was. Like he could call him up though. What would he say?

_Hey, I know I fucked up at the dance but won't you forgive me?_

Puh-lease. He barely spoke to Skittery before the dance and their kiss and he wasn't really one to apologize for his actions. Besides, he wasn't a fucking fag. So he kissed a guy and got a hard-on. It didn't _mean_ anything. He straightened the guitar strap.

"On a tour of one nightstands," he sang without strumming. "My suitcase and guitar in hand…"

He didn't finish the rest. Instead, he tossed the stolen guitar aside and flopped down on the bed, still singing.

"The world is so fucked up," he told the popcorn stucco on his ceiling. "Mine especially."

Then he laughed out loud. He was talking to the fucking _ceiling_ for Christ's sake.

"Ossie?" his mother poked her head in. "Are you okay? You seem to be talking to yourself. Do you have the Stigmata?"

"Schizophrenia, mama," he corrected, not even looking up.

"Whatever. It's not healthy. You've been moping around all weekend. Get out and do somethin'," she examined her red acrylic nails and used one hand to pat her stereotypical, guido-female hair.

Oscar responded to her by rolling over and putting a pillow over his head.

"Mature, Ossie," his mother scoffed, closing the door.

--

"I am officially weirded out," Pie remarked, sitting on the very edge of the lacy couch.

"By Bumlets or Hannah?"

"Both."

"Me too."

They glanced back to the kitchen where Bumlets was cheerfully making small talk with the Betty White-alike old woman who owned the glucose-infested apartment. There were cats everywhere. Cats on the lamps, cats on the ceiling fans, cats on the couch, table, television. But, strangely, no live cats that the boys could see.

"You know what?" Dutchy remarked. "I think the intervention can wait."

"Definitely."

They rose to their feet, half-expecting to see Hannah rip out an axe and say that they could never leave the house. For some reason, this reminded Dutchy of a line from the song 'Hotel California' of all things.

"You can check out any time you like but you can never leave," he sang under his breath.

Pie gave him a weird look. Dutchy responded with a shrug.

"We should go," he said. "My parents want me home to…watch my cousin."

Pie nodded. "And my mom wants me to handle music for her Yoga class."

They didn't even wait for Bumlets or Hannah to respond, they were out of there.

"We left our coats," Pie pointed out.

"They're sacrifices to the Gods now," Dutchy said solemnly.

Once they hit the bottom of the stairwell, Pie spoke again.

"I was getting a _Rosemary's Baby_ vibe in there," he remarked.

"Hannah was more Betty White than Ruth Gordon," Dutchy said as they pushed their way back into the cold, both clutching their arms and shivering. "But I know what you mean."

"We have to help him."

"It's our duty as his friends."

"The world is so fucked up," Dutchy sang. "It's in my kiss."

"What, is lame 70s punk style now an infectious disease?"

They shiveringly made their way down the street.

--

"So why is the whale killing people?" Sarah asked.

"The real question," Blink said. "Is why are we all piled onto one couch?"

"Because we're morons," Snitch replied. "And Mush, get your ankle off of my crotch."

He was relieved when the boy did as he was told.

"So Sarah," Jack said. "I take it DeLancey didn't rock your world tonight?"

She gave him a withering look that, to Snitch, looked more like a bad case of gas than anything else.

"I'd rather not talk about it," she huffed. "And whose hand is on my ass?"

"Well get your ass off my hand," Skittery complained. "I was here first."

"Guys," David changed the subject. "We all know what the real question is. Why are we watching _Orca_ for the second time tonight?"

"Because Dumbledore dies!" Blink shouted back.

David rolled his eyes. Blink stuck his tongue out, hands unable to get from under the collective bodies of Snitch, Mush and Skittery to give him the finger. Sarah got up and started pacing.

"I have to use the facilities," she said, heading towards the bathroom.

"You know the law no longer requires you to announce it!" Snitch shouted after her.

Blink rolled his eyes—well, Snitch could only guess that he rolled both.

"How very witty of you," he remarked. "Remind me to write that one down."

Snitch responded by wiggling his ass further into the couch and, by transgression, crushing Blink's hand. Blink jumped up, knocking nearly everyone off, screaming obscenities and grabbing his hand. He was about to use his still mobile hand to smack Snitch in the side of the head when his phone rang.

"Hello?" he asked. "Oh hi mom. I'm at Skittery's. No I don't want to join you tonight…because I don't like when you host…no mom, no one's plotting to kill you here. We're watching a movie…mom, I swear…I wouldn't lie to you…okay, love you bye."

He slapped the phone down and looked at the curious glances.

"What?"

--

Blink trudged home that night, zipping his track jacket—a birthday gift from Mush—up higher so the polyester closed the wind off from his neck. He was really dreading going home. His mother was hosting another orgy. For someone who thought that everyone was out to get her, she seemed to enjoy the company of young men. He paused at the door to his apartment when he got there, unzipping his jacket a little to stall for time. He closed his good eye, took a deep breath and walked in.

"Hi Lexi!" his mother called. "Did you want to join?"

Reluctantly, Blink opened his eye and nearly threw up. Men were all over his mother and she sat between them, sucking on a Tootsie pop. Blink slapped a hand over his mouth, actually feeling bile rise to his throat. This _had_ to be considered a form of child abuse.

"I'm going to…" he never finished the sentence because, at the speed that rivaled that of the Japanese bullet train, he vomited all over the carpet.


	18. Let's Meet and Have a Baby Now

Oscar was miserable at throwing. He knew he was miserable at throwing. When he was younger, his father had signed him up for little league. Being two years older, Morris was too old to be on the team but was dragged to practices anyway where he used his twelve-year-old ingenuity to try and get pot from the high schoolers and lose his virginity in the equipment shed. Oscar, however, did not have that luxury. He was stuck playing. He couldn't throw and, when his ball flew far away from its target, he got angrier and spiked the ball usually hitting people. His batting was worse. He couldn't hit the ball far and the bat swung out of his hands and usually beaned a kid on the head. Everyone would back up when he stepped up to the plate. Giovanni DeLancey, cheap and not wanting to have to pull his son out without a refund, tried everything. He put double-sided tape on his son's palms but that proved worse since he would run with the bat and smack anyone who got in his way. In the end, he was placed at the end of the batting roster and spent his fielding out in far left field, actually managing to get pot from the high schoolers and all was well in the team except no one exactly figured out why one of their smallest players—yet most violent—ate the celebratory pizza feast at the Pizza Hut so voraciously.

The fact that he couldn't throw was becoming more and more evident as he tried to throw the softball at the ominous milk bottles in order to win an overstuffed, oversized stuffed animal for some reason that he couldn't fathom. He was at the Fall Fundraising Carnival for another reason that he couldn't fathom.

"You know," Mrs. Mathers, the super-Catholic woman who was utterly oblivious to her son Jake's sexual escapades, said. "Why don't you try the Ring Toss?"

He gave her a filthy look and threw another ball.

"Impressive," a voice from behind him said. "And I thought you'd be a throwing whiz."

Oscar whipped around to see Nero Rizzio the little beaver-toothed freak who hung around with Skittery.

"What do you want Snitch?" he asked tiredly, hand flexing over the softball.

Without answering, Snitch grabbed the ball from his hand and winged it at the bottles. Much to Oscar's dismay and ego, the bottles collapsed and Mrs. Mathers surrendered an enormous stuffed Felix the Cat to Snitch.

"Here," he shoved it into Oscar's arms.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?" he sneered.

"Give it to someone," Snitch shrugged and sauntered off.

Oscar stared at his retreating back, wondering if anyone would notice him smother Rizzio with the cat. Instead, he sneered once more and stalked across the scuffed wood floor of the Pulitzer High gym, holding the cat like a big dorky instrument case. The irony was not lost on him that he, a boy named Oscar, was toting around a giant stuffed cat named Felix. As if reading his thoughts, someone behind him began to hum _The Odd Couple_ theme. He whipped around for the second time that night to see Skittery behind him. He was in a pink Aqua t-shirt with torn jeans.

"Hi," he said, smiling almost shyly.

Oscar waved with his cat hand and the entire gym was treated to the sight of a four-foot tall Felix bobbing from side to side like a buoy. Without thinking, he thrust the cat into Skittery's arms.

"Here," he said gruffly. "Take it."

His hands brushed against Skittery's as he did so and his face heated up in a way that made him want to beat himself.

"Thanks," Skittery said, using both arms to hold the cat. "So…um…"

"Sorry," Oscar said brusquely. "For being a shithead."

"That's okay," he replied, waving Felix's hand. "You're a cute shithead."

He smirked. "This is a different side of you."

"Blame Zoloft," Skittery gave his own smirk. It was cute.

"So, I've been thinking," Oscar lowered his voice.

"What?" Skittery leaned forward as if he couldn't hear over 'Love Shack' that was playing annoyingly loud in the gym.

"I said I've been thinking," he was a little louder.

"What?"

"Fuck this. Let's go outside!" he yelled at him.

--

"I feel like Mike Waters," Snitch said, smiling a self-satisfied smile.

"A narcoleptic street hustler in love with Keanu Reeves?" Blink quirked an eyebrow.

Snitch gave him a duh-brain look. Apparently, early nineties indie films eluded him. Blink himself would not have known about it had he not had a crush on River Phoenix in his pre-adolescence (he had known he was gay almost from the womb).

"Wha, who?"

"Never mind. Now who were you meaning on comparing yourself to?" Blink queried. "And if you say John Waters, I'm punching you in the face."

"What? I think I mean Mike Nelson."

That little bit of information perked Blink up, the Mistie that he was, and he laughed.

"I think you mean Cupid?" Mush asked. "Because I don't think Mike ever helped put people together."

Snitch shoved them both. "Both of you be quiet and let me revel in my geniosity."

Blink laughed. "Geniosity? That's a new one."

"Shut up, Blink."

"Now come on, I want to hear what geniosity means."

"Shut up, Blink."

"Oh, you're pulling a Bill and Ted on this aren't you?"

"SHUT UP, BLINK!"

Blink and Mush convulsed with laughter and Snitch adopted a petulant look. The three of them were leaning against the folded up risers, watching the so-called action of the carnival.

"This carnival is boring me," Blink said after a few more minutes. "I have a yen to watch _Pump Up the Volume_ for the fifteenth time. Mush, coming with?"

Mush smiled widely.

"Definitely," he said. "Christian Slater always makes you horny and then I'm so in there."

Blink blushed and thwapped him behind the head.

"Shut _up_," he said. "You bad boy."

Mush smiled. "Hee hee, whose butt you're biting."

Blink bared his teeth and the two of them went squealing outside. Snitch stared after them, feeling a strange pang of jealousy as they ran, laughing, out of the gym.

--

Skittery's arms started to ache from holding the cat doll in his arms but it didn't matter. He couldn't believe this was happening. He was kissing Oscar and not like that awful, hard kiss that hey had at Homecoming. It was an actual kiss. Like soft and open-mouthed. Felix was pinned between them and he was tempted to cover the innocent cat's eyes.

"I thought you weren't a fag," he said when he came up for air.

Oscar smirked. "Fuck it. But…"

"I know," he rolled his eyes. "This is the over clichéd part when you spout about how you have a reputation to uphold as the psycho straight boy and we have to keep this under wraps. Am I getting warm?"

"Yeah," he rolled his eyes. "It's not just that. I have family in the school and if word gets to Morris then it'll get to my parents and, please, I'm already not the fucking golden boy."

Skittery rolled his eyes again. Jesus.

"Must you always swear?" he asked. "I'm just saying that I saw it coming and I guess I know where you're coming from although…not really. My dad makes Boy George look straight and my mother is AWOL."

"Boo-hoo-hoo," Oscar sneered.

Skittery shoved Felix into him. Oscar shoved the cat aside and pulled Skittery close so their faces were almost touching.

"I'm serious," he said. "No one can know."

He rolled his eyes for a third time and nodded. "Fine, you psychopath."

--

Sarah perched on a stool in the booth, sitting in for her mother. Eager to make sure her children didn't stray from the straight and narrow, Esther had volunteered to run the darts booth. However, she had been AWOL most of the night, mingling with the other parents and meeting David and Sarah's teachers. And David, for the past hour, had been "in the bathroom" or at least that was what Sarah kept telling her mother. If she found out that he was with Jack probably doing something down south that was definitely _not_ using the bathroom, she'd have seven heart attacks, die and then come back and kill David.

"Can I get some darts?"

The voice not only sent Sarah out of her reverie but made her tingle. Morris stood in front of her, looking sad in a rumpled t-shirt and wrinkled and torn jeans.

"Depends," she shot back. "Did you have sex with the darts?"

"I deserve that," he said. "But please, Sarah, I…"

"Don't say it," she snapped. "I know you don't mean it."

"I do."

"Do not," she sighed. "How many girls have you told it to?"

He got down on his knees and looked at her, eyes looking not unlike a sad puppy's.

"No one," he said. "I've never had jones for anyone like you. I mean, you're different. You're—"

"Not a whore?" she offered.

"Well," he smiled. "Yeah. Please, please, please. I'm on my knees…which actually kind of hurts on this floor."

Sarah smiled despite herself. Then she stiffened. She had hand now. It felt kind of good.

"Well," she tapped her lower lip with one finger. "I guess I _could_ take you back on several conditions."

"Uh…okay."

"One," she started ticking off on her fingers. "This will never be spoken about again. As far as I'm concerned, you're a virgin."

"Deal."

"Two, shave," she said. "Then grow a goatee. It's hotter."

He cocked a brow. "Uh…okay. Deal."

"And three. Never ever cheat on me or I'll make Jack cut your penis off," she smiled, satisfied with herself.

"Deal."

Morris got up from the floor and leaned in. Sarah followed in suit. The second their lips touched, a voice jarred them.

"Sarah?"

They jumped apart as if their lips were electrocuted.

"Mom!" she yelped. "Um…this is my boyfriend."

"I see," she glared. "Sweetie, can you go check on David? He's been in the bathroom for quite some time now."

--

"He's not here," Race remarked, tongue snaking around his ice cream.

"I can see that," Spot shot back.

"He's probably with David," he rubbed in.

Spot elbowed him hard in the ribs, causing the ice cream to tumble from his hands and land with a sickening splat on the gym floor. Racetrack rubbed his ribbed, hands looking like they were stroking Gwen Stefani's face on his shirt which led Spot to wonder if he owned any non-No Doubt t-shirts. He glanced down at his _Blazing Saddles_ t-shirt. He wasn't one to talk.

"Shut up, Race," he said tiredly. "I'm not in the mood. I actually got a Patrick-talk today."

"A Patrick-talk?" Race quirked a brow.

"It's when my mother sits me down and tells me how I'm a failure to the family since all I do is hang around with you guys and how I'm lucky I don't have to go to a Brooklyn high school although it'd probably be rated higher than this shithole," he paused. "But anyway, I have a job now."

Race glanced at the darts booth where a woman watched them warily.

"Do tell," he said, not taking his eyes from the woman.

"It's very important," Spot rolled his eyes. "I'm meeting this fancy-shit woman in her Fifth Avenue _penthouse_ tomorrow."

Race laughed, tearing his gaze away from the strange woman.

"Coo coo cachoo, Mrs. Robinson," he laughed again. "Make sure to watch your crotch."

Spot rolled his eyes but they stopped halfway in their rotation when he noticed the woman staring at them strangely.

"Who is that?" he asked Race.

"I don't know but something about her looks really familiar," he tapped his chin. "Holy shit!"

The woman glared. Race slapped a hand over his mouth.

"What?" Spot demanded.

"She looks like an older version of Davey's sister!" he started laughing.

"Meaning?"

"David's mother."

"Meaning?"

"She could've heard us talking about Jack and David."

"Meaning?"

"Goddamnit you're slow, Conlon," he sighed. "Meaning she'd know about them."

Spot shoved him. "She doesn't know. She can't even hear us over 'Song for a Future Generation'."

"True and would it kill Vice Principal Snyder to play something that's not by the B-52's?"

"I like the B-52's," Spot smirked.

"Of course you do."

"Shut up, Higgins. She couldn't have heard us. That would spell disaster for me," he smirked. "Or maybe not."

Racetrack slowly shook his head as if he knew what Spot was thinking. "Don't do it. You'll be going straight to hell Spot. Do not pass Go; do not collect two thousand dollars. You'll be struck down on the spot, leaving those awful Wallabies you're wearing smoking where your body stood."

Spot didn't answer him, just sauntered into the crowd, singing.

"Let's meet and have a baby now…"


	19. Eddie Haskell's got Nothing on Him

"Hiya Mrs. Jacobs," Spot said in a horrible, super sweet, would-make-a-My-Little-Pony-barf voice.

She eyed the two boys coolly as if trying to figure out who they were. Racetrack came up behind him. If he was ever going to get together with Spot, he had to keep him from outing David which would most likely lead to David having a breakdown and breaking up with Jack (probably forcedly) and then Spot would swoop in like some Brooklynese vulture.

"We're friends of your son's," Spot explained. "I'm Patrick and this is Anthony."

Her cool look turned into a genuine smile. "Oh hi boys. I thought you were…oh, never mind."

"Yeah," Spot kept a smile shellacked on his face and, frankly, it was starting to freak Race out. "There's also David's friend Jack. Have you met him?"

His mother looked over his shoulder as if waiting for someone to come up to the booth before answering.

"Yes," she said with a smile. "Briefly. I'm glad David's meeting people."

"Oh David's meeting people," Spot nodded eagerly. "He and Jack are really close. Like—"

Race seized his upper arm.

"Hey _Patrick_," he all but hissed. "Why don't we stop bothering David's mom and go get some popcorn?"

Before Spot could utter a reply, Race had dragged him away. The second they were by the Ring Toss, Spot shoved him.

"What was that for?" he snapped.

"What was that for?" Race repeated. "I saw Jack and David coming and I don't think Jack would like you outing his boyfriend. I mean, if you value your internal organs, I wouldn't advise it."

He was making it up but Spot didn't have to know that.

"Oh," his expression softened. "Okay. Uh, thanks Race."

"Uh-huh, yeah, we all know I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread," he smiled. "But Conlon, I swear, Eddie Haskell's got nothing on you."

--

David and Jack strolled in from outside. It was starting to get colder and wetter in Manhattan as it inched towards Halloween but David's cheeks were aglow with rosy coloring that could only be attributed to something warm. Jack's hand was wrapped around his and it felt good to look like an actual couple rather than just two people who made out a lot. But, of course, he had to ruin the moment by wrenching his hand from Jack's the moment he saw his mother.

"Hi mom!" he squeaked way too loudly.

Esther smiled at her son.

"Hi, honey," she said as the two boys neared her booth. "I met some of your friends just now."

David furrowed his brow. Friends? Which friends? Snitch hadn't left his spot by the bleachers, he saw Blink and Mush leave and he knew that Skittery was outside presumably still macking with Oscar. Who did that leave?

"Patrick and Anthony," his mother continued. "Such nice boys except…are they your age, Davey, because they seemed kind of short."

"Oh!" Jack said brightly. "She means Race and Spot, Dave. Yeah, they're juniors."

David was then eternally grateful when he saw Jack reach forward and stick his hand out for his mother to shake.

"Jack Kelly," he said with a smile.

"Nice to meet you," she looked over Jack's shoulder and smiled brightly at David. Ah, approval.

"Well mom," David said quickly. "Jack and I should get going. I mean, don't want to clog up your booth."

All of this, of course, was said at lightning fast speed and he and Jack were out of there within the next seven seconds. Jack was laughing his ass off.

"Jesus, Dave," he gasped for air. "You really wanted to get out of there, huh?"

"Does it show?" David quirked a brow. "But, really, I get nervous around my mother. She's already freaking out about Sarah and Les and how I'm 'never home' so I don't want to accidentally let something slip about us."

He entwined his fingers with Jack's and smiled a little.

"Alright, alright," Jack rolled his eyes. "We'll avoid your mother for the rest of the night. Besides, I'd rather have you all to myself."

He put snaked his arms around David's waist and pulled him closer, teasing him by keeping his lips centimeters away until he grew frustrated, let out a groan and pushed their mouths together.

"Okay," David came up for air, blushing. "Let's, um, get out of here. Go back outside."

"Deal."

Jack clasped his hand again and the two of them left the gym.

--

"Talk hard!" Mush screamed into Blink's ear. "Talk hard!"

Blink groaned with pleasure. There had to be something perverse about being turned on by the movie _Pump Up the Volume_. There seriously had to be. But whenever Blink watched it, he got a serious hard-on. Thankfully, this time he wasn't alone. Blink had never really been one for masturbation since he thought the whole idea of rubbing yourself was kind of squicky—and a pre-adolescence of watching nubile young men do it for his mother also turned him off of it—and that all it accomplished was getting your sheets wet and making your wrist ache. So, other times, he would just picture Mary Louise Parker with a pillow over his lap to deflate his problem. But now that Mush was here…well, it was obvious how he remedied his problem with his penis.

"Shut up," he said good-naturedly. "You know my weakness."

Mush smiled and curled into him more. "I know. But it's fun. Although…"

"What?" Blink thought, for one horrible moment, that he was going to bring up the Bumlets kiss even though they both agreed never to speak of it again.

"I mean, last week at Homecoming, you said you were second-string to a footballer," he played with the frayed ends of Blink's sheets. "Does this mean I'm second-string to Happy Harry Hardon?"

"What? No!" Blink said. "I mean, of course not. I mean, Christian Slater isn't built half as well as you and I bet he couldn't rope me into a conversation about the chupacabra."

Mush smiled and curled in closer, putting his arms around Blink's waist.

"Okay," he breathed and then looked up. "Did you know that the chupacabra may not be even a biological creature but some goblin-creature from another dimension? How cool is _that_?"

"Riveting, honey," he kissed the top of his head. "Simply riveting."

--

Spot stepped into the frigid penthouse, feeling immensely out of place. For one, the entire subway had been cramped and crowded on his way into the city and he was sweating his ass off. Another, the entirely thing was so fucking fancy. Wooden antiques adorned the walls, medieval tapestries covered one entire back wall and there was expensive, uncomfortable looking furniture everywhere. The entire apartment was done in shades of red and chocolate and carpet? There was no carpet. The hard, gleaming mahogany floor made Spot almost yearn for the beige shag back in his apartment. Nervously, an emotion he rarely had, Spot ventured into the apartment.

"Hi!" a little voice chirped.

An angelic-looking boy with big blue eyes and curly blonde hair waved at him. He was apple-cheeked and wearing clothes that Spot had only seen in Victorian pictures in his history textbook. What was some little fucking kid doing here?

"Have you seen Corbin?"

Before Spot could answer, another high voice piped up.

"Nuh-uh! No fair! You can't ask people for help!"

Another little curly blonde head popped up in a fashion that reminded Spot of the munchkins from _The Wizard of Oz_. A boy identical to the other stepped out. Spot assumed it was Corbin.

"Are you going to be our friend?" the first one asked.

"Of course he is."

A woman with her long blonde hair in a French-twist and wearing gold mules with a sheer, gold camisole dress came out. She was pretty and had the same hair, eyes and cheekbones as the boys. Their mother and the woman he was supposed to meet, he presumed.

"You know when Kevin and Lily suggested this," she smiled serenely. "I was a little skeptical but you're almost seventeen now, correct Patrick?"

Spot nodded, feeling suddenly confused.

"Oh, excellent," she pressed her hands together. "You can start now. I have an event to plan."

"Event?" was all Spot could manage.

He was actually at a loss of words.

"Didn't your mother explain it to you?" the woman frowned. "You're going to be watching my sons while I plan events and take lunch and go to shows and all that. I would bring Hester and Corbin with me but…they're not that well behaved around my friends. They are only four, you know. But you should have no problem."

"Oh," Spot managed to regain some of his composure. "Yeah, she did. Explain it, I mean. But I had to take the subway and I'm a little woozy from the heat."

"Sub…way?"

He refrained from rolling his eyes. Jesus…high society types. The woman—whose name he had yet to catch—then left Spot with the two children. What were their names? Hector and Corey? That didn't sound right. They were fucking weird names. Hester and Corbin. Who the fuck names their kid _Hester_? Why not just name him Kick My Ass?

"Patrick's gonna be our friend!" one of them, he couldn't tell which, clapped their hands together.

"Yay!" the other one joined in.

They then began jumping up and down like living pogo sticks and Spot thought back to his actions last night. He had never been a spiritual person, shunning church on Sundays—much to the chagrin of his go-everyday-rain-or-shine grandmother—to sleep in or hang out with his friends but standing in the apartment, sweaty and hot, watching two four-year-olds squealing about being his friend while doing a juvenile version of moshing, he couldn't help but think of karma and wonder if this was the universe's way of getting back at him for last night.

--

Monday morning, Skittery walked to Denton's class with a spring in his step and a song in his heart…and on his lips.

"Come out Virginia, don't let me wait, you Catholic girls start much to late," he sang merrily, all but skipping into the classroom. "But sooner or later it comes down to fate…I might as well be the one. Well they—"

"Shut up, Skittery," David said good-naturedly as he met up with him at the doorway. "But you're in a good mood. No longer contemplating suicide?"

"That obvious?" he smiled.

"Well the hickey should be a dead giveaway," Skittery slapped a hand over his neck.

David laughed. "Come on. We're discussing our latest reviews today. Get your mind off of that hideous mark on your neck."

Skittery shoved him and pointed to where David's collarbone poked up a little over the collar of his baseball t-shirt.

"Besides, what's that little mark, Jacobs?"

David smiled, embarrassed and the two pushed into the classroom.

"Hello boys," Mr. Denton greeted them.

They waved and settled into their seats. Skittery watched some of the other students trickle in, including Jack who immediately went over to David, planting a small kiss on his lips before heading to his seat in the back.

"Awww," Skittery cooed.

"Shut up, hickey-boy," David smiled.

Then the bell rang and there was no more discussion about hickeys and it was all about their book reviews.

"Now," Denton perched on the end of his desk. "We're starting out with our newest student's review which, frankly, was one of the most well-written ones I've seen all year. David, you didn't tell us your were a writer."

Skittery turned and saw David sink lower in his seat, obviously embarrassed by the sudden attention. A few kids in the class clapped politely but most just looked bored as Denton began to read David's review on _War and Peace_ which Skittery was impressed he had even read.

"I, uh," David explained. "Have a thing for Russian literature."

Skittery smiled and nodded like he understood. You learn something new everyday.

--

For Skittery, the rest of the week was a flurry of studying, talking about the forthcoming Halloween dance (mainly arguing back and forth about how stupid it was that costumes were mandatory), and secret make-out sessions with Oscar. They would meet up in the baseball dugout after school or during third period break because no one played baseball in the fall and no one touched the baseball field anyway because it was about the size of a day-by-day calendar. The kisses were long and hot and made him wanting more as cheesy it as that sounded. They had gotten to second base. Even Friday afternoon as he sat in his car waiting for Blink, he remembered Oscar's hands sliding up under his shirt and their bodies pressed together. He took a deep breath as Blink slid into the passenger's side.

"You're blushing," he remarked. "Does it have anything to do with your psychotic boyfriend? Like I need to ask."

Skittery gave him a withering look. "He's not my boyfriend. Yet."

He laughed. "I love how that's what you say he's not."

"That's because everyone knows that he's psychotic," he shot back.

It wasn't exactly true since other than have an absolutely foul mouth, Oscar wasn't really that psychotic around him. Of course, that didn't stop that he threatened violence upon anyone who tread upon his path that he didn't like. Which was almost everyone in the lower grades.

"Uh-huh," Blink took Skittery's CD out of the car's ancient CD player that was all but a cassette player and shoved in his Third Eye Blind CD.

"Do you mind?"

"No, actually, I don't but thanks for asking."

"I hate you."

"Kiss-kiss," Blink smirked.


	20. Vroom Vroom

"Did it hurt?" one of the twins asked.

"Did what hurt?" Spot replied tiredly, rotating his shoulders to make sure that his arms were still in their respective sockets. "The fact that you both pulled me like a wagon through Central Park?"

"When you got that thingy in your tongue," he pointed a sticky little hand at him.

"Oh…no. Not really, Corbin," he shrugged.

"I'm Hester."

"Same difference."

The two kept smiling like the sunshine twins while Spot was a rain cloud. He was going to kill his parents when he got home. No worse. He was going to force them to hang out with economy-sized Cheech and Chong for a day and _then_ kill them. Well, at least no one he knew was here.

"Spot?"

Shit.

Spot glanced up to see Jack looking like a goddamn Greek God with no fucking shirt on. The sun glinted off of his nose ring in a way that made Spot want to shield his eyes. Of course, he was with his fucking shadow boyfriend David but still.

"Hey," Jack let go of David's hand and squatted before the Hell twins. "Who are you two?"

"I'm Corbin!" one squeaked. "This is my brother Hester!"

"Well, hi Corbin and Hester. I'm Jack," he smiled toothily at them. "Whatcha guys doing with Spot?"

"Spot? This is our friend Patrick."

"Patrick?" Jack laughed.

"Hi," David smiled at the kids and they smiled back.

Spot cursed them both. Why did children like them so much?

"Patrick's our friend," one of them, Hester Spot thought, repeated. "But he doesn't really like us."

Jack put a hand on Hester's golden curls and smiled, his head slightly turned to the side. Spot knew why. Even though he had serious jones for Jack, he was pretty intense to look at head on in an I'm-going-to-kill-you-and-leave-your-body-on-the-side-of-the-road kind of way. Obviously, he was trying not to scare him. Hester seemed to buy it too since he smiled back and tugged on Jack's bandana.

"I'm sure he likes you guys," Jack smiled brightly, standing up. "He just has a weird way of showing it."

This seemed to please both of the twins immensely and they started doing their pogo stick impression again around Spot.

"Awww," Jack cooed, leaning into David. "Idinit sweet? Soon we'll have some kids of our own Davey."

Spot felt anger spark up suddenly. Just when he was starting to feel not angsty, Jack had to bring him down again to gush with David.

"Babies?" David glanced down at his body and lifted the hem of his ever-present baseball t-shirt, showing the world his tattoo. "Jack, we're men."

"We'll adopt!" Jack exclaimed. "Or, get a surrogate. Or pull a _Junior_ to knock you up!"

David gave him a mortified look and let his t-shirt drop.

"Jack," he fielded, trying to regain composure. "Are you insane?"

"No, why?" Jack grinned. "There's something hot and domestic about it."

"You're not getting me pregnant," they started to amble away without another word to Spot.

"Patrick?" one of the twins ceased their bouncing. "What's pregnant?"

--

"We are now in phase two of Operation Intervention," Dutchy stated.

"Who are you talking to?" Pie Eater pulled his hat down further on his head.

Dutchy waved him away, feeling a bit of his old self come back as he and Pie scaled around Bumlets's apartment building.

"This is stupid," Pie Eater bemoaned. "He's going through a grieving period. This is a phase. We do not need to storm in there and be all WE CAN HELP YOU."

He turned and gave the brunette a glacial look.

"Pie, do you really mean that or are you just cold?"

"A little from column A, a little from column B," he replied. "Shhh, here he comes with what I can only assume are Hannah's groceries again."

Dutchy squinted.

"Pie, that's a bag of Krispy Kreme donuts."

"Same difference."

"Oxymoron."

"You're an oxymoron."

"Riveting."

"Shut your pie hole."

"Ironic, coming from you. Is the cold numbing your brain cells?"

"Probably. Let's get out of here."

Dutchy grabbed his arm to keep him from leaving. "We are talking to Bumlets."

He marched out from around the building, dragging Pie Eater with him.

"Dutchy, this would be so much easier if you just let us be damned to Hell."

--

Skittery was surprised when he saw the inside of the room. There was stuff _everywhere_. There were about twelve clock radios piled up in a corner and what looked like microwave boxes jutting out of the closet. How did a family of four need this much stuff? He sat on the bed on the right side of the room, the one he presumed was Oscar's thanks to the crudely carved O in the headboard. Apparently, their parents had a hard time telling their sons apart when they were little since every picture he had seen in the apartment of younger Oscar—who he totally wanted to snuggle to death—he had a shirt on that said his name. Same with Morris. It was very strange because they didn't look alike. Hell, they didn't even look _related_.

"Enjoying the view?" Oscar asked.

He was pacing and, even though his face didn't show it, Skittery could tell he was nervous. Obviously, he had usually brought people—read: girls—to his room to have sex with them.

"We don't have to," Skittery said, tapping the shag dark green carpet with his socked feet. "Have sex, I mean."

To be perfectly honest, he wasn't a big sex guy himself. He wasn't a virgin…in the penis sense. He was still an ass-virgin, having never actually had sex with another guy. How could he? Shortly after realizing he was gay, he was thrown into rehab. And when he got out, he was thrown in again. Plus, guys didn't like guys with baggage. Still, he liked that he kind of had the upper hand on Oscar at this point, letting him believe that he had had sex heaps of times before. Plus, seeing him look all nervous and skittish was kind of a turn on.

"I'm not scared," he sneered. "I mean, I've fucked a chick in the ass before but this is different."

If Skittery didn't know better, he could've sworn that he saw a blush unfurl onto Oscar's face.

"How is it different?"

"It's different because it's so…familiar," he paused. "I dunno. I mean, we have the same parts."

Skittery stood and went over to him. "We aren't cars."

Oscar hooked his fingers into his belt loops and pulled him closer.

"Vroom vroom," he whispered.

Then they were on the bed, making out furiously. Skittery couldn't begin to ponder the whys and hows of the situation but he found himself not caring. He felt Oscar slide his hands under his t-shirt and his breath caught in his throat from the heat emanating from them.

"Is this okay?" he asked. "I mean, you want this? Shit…"

"What?"

"I've never asked that before," he laughed.

"Great," Skittery felt a smile burning behind his lips. "But come on. The sex isn't going to have itself."

He hoped he sounded confident. He figured it worked since Oscar immediately got down to business.

--

Sarah snuck into the house late that night. So late that she couldn't differentiate between morning and night. She and Morris had made up. Meaning that they almost got to have sex again! Yet again, they had been interrupted. This time by his mother ringing him on his cell phone to tell him to pick up dinner. But still, those fifteen minutes in the backseat of the car had been amazing. She had let him touch her all over in a way that made her shudder to remember it. How she let him touch her breasts under her bra and kiss her and…she blushed, wondering if she was schizophrenic and the girl who let her boyfriend do naughty things to her was another personality. She was about to sneak into her room when the door to David and Les's room opened.

"Oh, crap," she muttered.

But, to her surprise, it wasn't David or even Les that stepped out but Jack clad in only a pair of Batman boxers.

"Ah!" he yelped when he saw her. "Shit Christ, Sarah. You scared the Jesus out of me."

She laughed a little. A nervous laugh. She stepped into the kitchen.

"You're staying the night?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm supposed to be using Les's bed since he's over at a friend's house." Jack paused to stare at their fridge as if amazed of the off-white door. "I'm not."

Of course he wasn't. He was in David's bed, ravishing her younger brother. Sarah nodded, leaning against the counter.

"So, your world get rocked yet?" he turned from the fridge.

She shook her head, taking in Jack's near naked form. She couldn't help but think that David was one hell of a lucky guy to have _that_ at his disposal. Then she thought of the _other_ near naked boy she had seen that night and smiled to herself.

"Bummer," he remarked. "You know, I had your brother in bed after about a week. What's DeLancey's deal?"

Sarah shuffled nervously.

"We've tried," she said, feeling suddenly nervous to be speaking to her brother's boyfriend about this. "But…there's always been a distraction of some sort."

"Bummer," he repeated. "Well, you two'll knock the boots sooner or later."

He pushed off of the fridge and headed back towards David's room.

"Speaking of which," he smiled over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.

Sarah watched them and heard a small giggle of pleasure emanate from behind the door. And she wanted that. She wanted that bad.


	21. Deconstructing the Coreys

David hesitated in front of Mr. Denton's door. Something about talking to teachers after class always weirded him out. Just like he hated seeing teachers in the grocery store. He once saw his second grade teacher Mrs. Beatty in a Barnes and Noble while he was perusing their selection of _Goosebumps_ books and, as he can acutely remember, his tongue actually swelled up twice its size. He shook his head; he had nothing to worry about. Mr. Denton was normal and verging on cool in that dorky way some teachers were. Plus, he hadn't done anything wrong so it wasn't like he was being reprimanded. He reached for the handle and paused again. The Police song 'Don't Stand So Close to Me' suddenly popped into his head. Dear lord, what was his damage?

"David?" the door opened. "It's unlocked."

"Oh!" he felt his face heat up. "I mean, yeah, I was just, uh, marveling at the door. Is that actual oak?"

Mr. Denton smiled at him. "It's fine to be nervous, David but it's hardly anything bad. Would you like to come in the classroom or do you want to marvel the door some more?"

"I think I'll go inside and marvel that green-gray carpet," David smiled, regaining some composure.

He entered the classroom and felt awkward once more. Should he stay standing? Should he sit in a desk?

"David, I'm going to be brief," Denton rolled up his sleeves and smiled warmly. "I really just need your okay."

"My okay?"

"Yes. I showed your _War and Peace_ review to the editor of the school's newspaper, _The World_…recently renamed after _The Well_."

"_The Well_?"

"The original principal was an oil tycoon. A southern one. A big, cigar-chomping, big-bellied fat cat," he explained. "Anyway, long story short, he loved it and wants you on the staff."

Maybe he should've sat down in a desk.

"What? I mean, really? I mean…that's awesome!" he didn't bother to hide his zeal. "Sure I'll be on the staff. When's the next meeting?"

Denton smiled. "Friday. We meet every Friday. I'm the academic advisor. But you probably saw that coming."

He nodded, almost too excited to speak but David was never too anything to speak.

"Yeah, great!" he all but skipped out of the classroom.

Wait until he told Jack.

--

Dutchy arose earlier than usual: the sun hadn't peaked over the already dead  
trees that fell short of reaching his floor of the cement block of an  
apartment. He walked over to the mirror, pulling out his striped boxers  
from where they had wedged themselves during the night. Yawning, he   
regarded himself in the mirror. He put his glasses on and what happened was  
what his psychiatrist father called a moment of total clarity. He didn't  
want it. He didn't want the pressed khaki, outlet-bought LaCoste shirt  
life. He wanted to go back to being Dutchy. Pie wouldn't care since he was   
still freaked out about Bumlets. With renewed purpose, he marched over to  
his closet and sifted through his collared shirts and bland chinos until he  
got to the back where his old clothes were. He grabbed a pair of black  
cargo shorts with gray sweat socks and his trusty black high tops or, what  
he called, his Ted shoes. He pulled out a Hawaiian shirt in shades of dark   
blue and green with a white t-shirt. He fastened on a sweatband and tucked  
his hair under a backwards cap. When he was finished, he walked over to the  
poster of the two Great Ones that hung about his bed and performed a ritual  
he hadn't had since Specs left all those months ago.  
"Be excellent to each other," he told his poster and, per usual, imagined  
their reply of 'Party on dudes.' Humming, he stepped into the kitchen. His parents gave him a dual incredulous look.

"Perry," his mother said. "What are you wearing?"

"Clothes," he said brightly, snatching an English muffin off of the plate on the table.

His father's face turned purple with what he guessed was rage. Dutchy grabbed his bag from a chair and slung it over one shoulder.

"Gotta book it to school," he announced. "Catch ya later, mom and pop."

How he managed to revert back to normal in a matter of minutes was incredible. And it caused a lot less headaches than pretending to be Mr. pretentious-shit-quick-set-of-doubles-anyone? that he had been for months.

He finished his farewell with a hang-loose sign and walked out of the house, whistling and munching his muffin.

--

"What are you wearing?" Pie Eater demanded when he got a look at Dutchy that  
morning on the steps. "Jesus Christ. It's like I'm living in a cuckoo  
clock! First Bummers with his new   
I-wish-it-was-1977-and-I-was-dating-a-Sex-Pistol style and now you look like  
you're about to hop into a phone booth and travel back in time!"  
Dutchy shook his head and draped an arm around his friend's shoulders.  
"Dude," he said. "This is me. The real me. The doping, acidhead, party  
boy. I also think that punky punkerson is actually Bumlets. Or a hardcore  
version. I'm sure the real him is a playful little puddy tat. Now, we just  
have to find the real Pie."  
Pie Eater shoved his arm away and frowned, crossing his arms over his navy  
polo shirt.  
"This IS the real me," he stated. "Promise."  
Dutchy smiled. "Riiight. And I'm Mary Queen of Scots, dude."

--

"Well, if we go strictly by looks," Snitch continued. "I still say Haim."  
Skittery shook his head. "That's back then. Now, Feldman is definitely   
better looking. Haim looks like something a dog shit out."  
"Yeah but Feldman had that whole Michael Jackson thing," David wrinkled his  
nose. "But I suppose I should pick him since he's Jewish. Stick up for the  
home team."  
"Oi vey," Blink rolled his eyes.  
"If we go by acting talent," Skittery elbowed Blink. "I say Feldman."  
"Please," Snitch said. "What variety did he have? Precocious kid who can't  
shut up or smart ass teen who can't shut up?"  
"How pathetic are we?" Blink filched his daily cucumber off of David's  
salad. "We just spent the past twenty minutes deconstructing the Coreys."  
Skittery considered this, sucking on the spoon of his cheap Italian Ice  
substitute as he often did when he was contemplative.  
"We are sad people," he said finally. "But maybe Mr. hotshot reporter could  
write his first article about this."  
He elbowed David playfully.  
"Yeah," he rolled his eyes and elbowed Skittery back. "Because the entire  
school wants to know four guys' opinions on teen idols from the 1980s."  
Snitch held a hand up in a signal for them to wait until he swallowed to  
continue the conversation.  
"I would," he stated.  
"And there you go," David smiled. "I rest my case."

--

"Did you ever just want to give up on Jack?"

"Bite your tongue!"

Racetrack shook his head. So far, all of his advances on Spot had been moot. The only time they kissed was when Jack was around and he got desperate for a spark of jealousy.

"I mean, this is getting you nowhere," he continued. "Spot, you're coming off like a desperate soap opera diva here. I mean, Jack's a hot snatch and he's our friend but come on already."

He regretted the words the instant they left his mouth. The glare Spot gave him made him wish that looks could kill so he wouldn't have to suffer his wrath.

"Race, kindly shut your hole before you have to learn how to breathe through your forehead," he said in a tight, controlled voice.

"I'm just saying."

"Well don't!" Spot snapped.

Race decided not to press him since he had grown attached to his internal organs over the years.

--

Snoddy sat in home ec., not listening to Medda. This was the only period he and Jake had together and he wasn't going to waste it learning to cook. Instead, he stared deeply at Jack as he pretended to listen while he was probably wondering if the girl he fucked in the bathroom at the gig they went to was carrying an STD or not. Jake, Jake, Jake. All he ever wanted. They had been best friends since swim classes at the Y. Jake was always nice to him even when he was observing the others. He never called him thick even if he thought it and he smelled really good, like Play-Doh and dryer sheets which is possibly the best combination known to man. Thanks to his own influence, he wasn't a bad dresser for a straight guy—if only he'd lose that dorky ski cap—and he had one of the cutest looks Snoddy had ever seen with his thin, upturned nose and big brown eyes. Apart from having abs of steel and waking up one morning to have turned into Heath Ledger, the only thing he wanted more in the world was for Jake not to be straight.

"Mr. Flannery!"

Snoddy snapped his head up.

"What is so fascinating about Mr. Mathers's ear that you must stare at it the entire period?" Miss Larkson asked, tapping her foot.

"Nothing," he mumbled, turning to face front.

Jake smiled sympathetically at him. He knew about his crush—although not that he was in love with him—but bore no bad will towards him. Besides, everyone knew that Miss Larkson hated teaching home ec. and would much rather just teach drama so she gave her home ec. kids a harder time. The second she went back to discussing how many pints were in a quart or whatever, he went back to looking at Jake, completely transfixed. Shit, he really _did_ have it bad.


	22. JFK Sailed the Seven Seas

David was awoken by someone tapping at his window. Startled, he sat straight up in bed. First, he stole a look at Les who was still sound asleep. Fear mounting, he rose and headed for the window. Lines from 'The Raven' popped into his head. Before he could sort through them, he realized who it was tap, tap tapping at his chamber, uh, window.

"Jack, what are you doing?" he hissed, sliding the pane up. "Are you insane?"

"Possibly," he was out of breath and his cheeks were tinted pink from the October chill. "Come, Dave. Get dressed. My van's waiting on the street."

He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. Was he not fully awake or was Jack suggesting that he sneak out, in the middle of the night, to go who knows where?

"What?"

"We're goin' on a road trip!" he enthused. "You and me. I was thinkin' we'd head back to your old stomping grounds."

David backed away from the window. He was _definitely_ insane.

"What?" he repeated.

"Chester. I looked it up. Come on, Davey. It's the weekend. Get dressed and come on!"

He shook his head. "Jack…couldn't come in the morning? It's…" he glanced at his bedside clock. "One AM!"

He shrugged and smiled, pouting a little. David glanced away, knowing he was powerless to Jack's pout.

"Fine," he said begrudgingly. "Just give me ten minutes."

He reached forward to pull the drapes shut so he could get changed when he noticed that Jack was snickering.

"What?" he asked for the third time.

"Davey, I've seen you naked before. Not like you've got anything to hide," he giggled.

Still feeling self-conscious, David pulled off his pajamas and got changed into clothes he pulled out of his drawers without even looking at what they were. Then he quickly brushed the sickly morning—er—night breath out of his mouth and climbed out of a window. He felt like a rebellious teen in a _Lifetime_ movie. He also felt incredibly stupid but that went without saying. He stepped onto the fire escape as he was scribbling a hasty note to his parents on a green Post-it. To make matters worse, Jack was humming the theme from _My Little Ponies_ now. He had to have truly lost his mind. David stuck the note to the windowsill and started going down. Jack scooped him up and carried him, princess-style.

"Love lifts us up where we belong!" he sang loudly.

"Shhh!" David kicked his legs. "And put me down!"

"No way, Davey!" he cried happily.

David sighed and relaxed. Obviously, Jack was going through some crazy phase and to shock him out of it would probably prove catastrophic. For now, he just had to let the insanity roll over him.

--

"Check it," Snitch dumped a little satchel on Skittery's super-modern white table. "Chocolate doubloons. Party favors from Daly's friend's little brother's birthday party. I was forced to attend last night."

Blink didn't look up from the awful Sci-fi channel movie he was watching.

"I said chocolate doubloons!"

Sighing, he wrenched away from the movie mocking and walked over to him.

"The bag's cool," he remarked.

Skittery joined them, snapping his cell phone shut. "Still no answer from David. Guess he's not coming."

"Oh," Snitch wiggled his eyebrows. "He's _coming_ alright."

Blink shoved him before reaching into the bag. He examined the wrapping.

"This isn't a doubloon," he stated. "This is Yen."

"What?" Snitch demanded.

"This a one hundred Yen piece. Look, this writing is so Japanese," he held it out for his friend to see.

"Well, that's just one," he stared down at the bag.

Blink grabbed the bag upended it, sending the six chocolate coins onto the table. Sure enough, there were no actual doubloons. Just different forms of currency. Snitch picked up a foil penny, frowning. Skittery took a gold half-dollar into his hand.

"Ah," he stated. "Because JFK was known for pillaging on the seven seas."

"Uh, argh," Blink piped in with an impression of the late president.

They laughed and gave a high five. Snitch glared at them.

"What?" Blink asked, still smiling.

"I fuck hate you, you know that?"

--

David awoke with a jerk as the van went over another pothole. He had given Jack directions to his old neighborhood and was regretting it. He really didn't want to go back to Chester or Washingtonville or anywhere else in the tri-city area. He had, though, managed to sleep most of the way so he didn't have to pass the Sunoco station with the distracted cashier who was always haranguing someone on the phone in Hindi or The Castle where the kids at school thought it would be fun to jam his club into the snout of the fire-breathing dragon on the mini-golf course and push him into the water hazards. The sun was just peaking over the trees as they crested the hill that led into his neighborhood.

"Wow," Jack whispered in reverence, like he was in a church. "An actual neighborhood with lawns and swing sets and pools. Shit, pools! Filled pools too!"

He was so in awe and David was so in awe at his awe that neither noticed someone was approaching the Aerostar until they began to rap repeatedly on the window. Jack rolled it down and smiled. David, however, blanched. It was Conner St. Johnson, the boy who seemed to like to make it his personal mission to make David's life a living hell. At least, it used to be until the bullying and slandering got so bad that his family had to move away.

"Hi," he said gruffly, having not seen him yet.

"Hi," Jack greeted him back warmly. "You live here, right? You know David?"

He reached across the seat and pulled him forward by the front of his t-shirt. An easy grin appeared on Conner's face.

"Yeah," he smirked. "I know him. We go way back, right Dave?"

He was thankful for Jack's body and the van door suddenly. They were separating him from the burly boy.

"Yeah," he offered meekly.

"So," he looked at Jack. "You his _boyfriend_ or something?"

Jack blinked his eyes. "Uh…yeah."

Conner started laughing, smacking himself on his knee.

"I knew Jacobs was a fag! And now I gotta pair of 'em right here!"

Jack's eyes narrowed and, what David chalked up to a trick of the light, turned green like The Incredible Hulk's. He half-expected him to say 'You won't like me when I'm angry'. Jack opened the car door quickly so it hit Conner in the stomach. Then he leapt out and jumped on him, smacking him repeatedly from side to side, swearing and cursing.

"Jack!" David got out of the van and ran around the hood. "Stop it!"

"Yeah, Jack!" Conner moaned. "Stop it. Don't wanna break a nail, fagola!"

Jack bit him on the arm and, judging by his expression, it was hard too. He dug his knee into Conner's groin and basically held him in a way that the boy—while taller and wider than him—couldn't move.

"Jack," David tried. "Let's go. I really didn't want to come here."

To David's surprise, Jack got up. He kicked Conner one last time and got back into the van.

"Fuckers!" he shouted as Jack drove forward to go around the block. "Fags!"

As they drove around, David noticed some neighbors out on their lawns, wondering what the commotion was so early in the morning. He ducked his head so no one would notice him.

"You should've told me, Dave," Jack said. "That you didn't want to come here. I mean, how was I supposed to know that there were fucktards like that douche here that gave you a hard time?"

David shrugged. "You never told me why we had to get up in the middle of the night and randomly drive somewhere."

Jack bit his lip. "Davey…my dad proposed to Erin. I couldn't take it. I had to get out."

He shrugged as they left the neighborhood.

"Oh…well…uh…alright," he stared out the window. "But thanks Jack. For sticking up for me."

"Yeah, I stick up for the little guy," David saw him smiling in the window. "Just call me Darkwing Duck."

He turned and faced him.

"When there's trouble you call DW," he sang softly.

Jack stopped at a stoplight and turned to face him. In between red and green, he kissed David softly and sweetly, on his mouth.

"I love you," he breathed almost mentally.

"What Dave?"

"Nothing."

--

Bumlets walked into the kitchen Saturday morning, yawning and scratching the back of his neck.

"Good morning Byron," his mother said in the mournfully dramatic tone she had adopted since Bryan's death. "Are you inviting your whole grade or just those you know?"

"What?" his regular brain hadn't set in yet and he had no idea what his mother was talking about.

"For the funeral," she continued. "It's next Friday."

Oh, of course.

"Just those I know," he said, feeling a melancholy, blamed feeling come over him.

She set down a bowl of cereal for him, having claimed to be too distraught to cook anything.

"Did Bryan have any friends to invite?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. He just hung out with my friends and me."

"That's fine then," she ghosted over to the counter and began methodically chopping onions.

Bumlets looked down at his bowl of cornflakes and pushed them away. He was in no mood to eat. He was planning on doing what he had done since Bryan died: listen to records on his father's old LP player with the volume turned all the way up and smoke the pot he bought in Central Park. It was good to have such a simple plan. No worries, no responsibilities and no disappointments. And no blame, either.

--

Dutchy stretched languidly on the Central Park bench. It felt good to be back into the routine of having no routine. Of never knowing where he was going to wake up or who he was going to wake up with. He was still in his clothes from yesterday which now stank from pizza and pot. His hat was missing and his hair was undoubtedly a veritable bird's nest. His mouth tasted like vomit and his glasses were off-kilter. But he felt great. Despite the crushing hangover, he felt fantastic. No more pretentious shit. No more pretending to like cricket. He was free, free! Of course, he would still hang out with his friends since he didn't really have any others except for some kids he got high with.

Feeling better, he rose and stretched again, ruffling his hair even more. Getting shakily to his feet, Dutchy wobbled and teetered out of Central Park. He felt like a Barbie doll—he had the right color hair and eyes—as he did, precariously tilting on made-for-heels feet. Granted, his feet were normal and sealed inside black high tops but still, he felt like her.

"Heh heh," he said to no one in particular except maybe that passed out bum under the tree. "I'm a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world! Life in plastic, it's fantastic!"

He skipped a little, wondering if his high hadn't completely gone away. Of course it hadn't. But, of course, he didn't care.


	23. Jack Kelly in RABBIT RESCUE

"Are you going?" Blink asked, baring his teeth at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Skittery looked up from the cigarette he was lighting. Blink had already given him grief since Skittery had quit when he had had to go to rehab. It was no doubt Oscar's influence. Soon Skittery would replace his Aqua t-shirts and pink polo shirts for wife beaters and flannel over shirts. Blink dreaded the day.

"Going?" he asked, after exhaling a stream of smoke.

"To Bryan's funeral," Blink continued, lifting his eye patch to rub his eye. "You get the invite?"

Skittery nodded. "Not exactly the social event of the year."

He nodded his agreement. Skittery knew all about Blink's little problem with funerals. He had never attended one. He had still been in the hospital for his father's.

"Yeah. I mean, I owe it to Bummers," Skittery shrugged. "You going?"

Blink grabbed the cigarette out of his hand and inhaled. He rarely smoked—Mush hated it.

"What do you think?" he asked snidely.

"You have to overcome this pedestrian fear one of these days," Skittery explained placidly, taking his cigarette back.

"Okay, one of these days. Preferably it'll be _my_ funeral," he smiled.

Skittery shook his head. "Bennetson, you're a pisser."

Blink gave him a withering look and popped a few minutes from his pocket into his mouth to hide the smoke smell. He gave Skittery the finger as he headed out of the bathroom.

"Sit and spin, Newcomb."

Skittery blew him a kiss.

--

"I think he'll like it," Jack said indignantly, holding the cage up to eye level.

David put a hand on his shoulder. "Jack, there's something you should know about Les and animals."

Jack put the rabbit cage down. "What?"

"Our backyard in Chester was a graveyard. They all die, Jack. Some within weeks. Plus," he smiled. "What are we even going to name said rabbit?"

"I already named it."

Jack hoisted the cage onto his shoulder as the elevator door slid open onto David's floor. He started whistling and walking down to the Jacobs' apartment. David had to hurry if he wanted to make it out of the elevator before the door closed.

"Jack, what'd you name the bunny?" he called after him.

Jack didn't answer. David dreaded that it was something like Penis or Phallus or some other lewd word. The last thing Les needed was to learn about his member. Especially through a bunny. The phrase 'boffing like bunnies' popped into his head.

"Jaaack!" he yelled after him, running down the hallway.

--

"I'm a Mawg," Race said the second he entered Spot's apartment. "Half man, half dog. I'm my own best friend."

Spot immediately perked up.

"Thanks Higgins," he gave him a small smile.

"What's that? Spot Conlon's smiling and giving thanks? What is this joyous occasion?"

Spot whacked him. "What? I'm wondering is why you're here. Jack doesn't know. We can't try and make him jealous. Besides I have to babysit Damian and Cujo in a few minutes."

Race paused at the door, examining the jamb and biting his lip. He had to do this. He had just quoted _Spaceballs _for Christ's sake. All for Spot. He was _going_ to get into his pants.

"For this," he declared.

Race grabbed Spot by the front of his _Meaning of Life_ t-shirt and brought their lips together harshly. Then he let him go and wiped his lips.

"There we go," Race waved. "Later, Spot."

Then he left, leaving a confused Spot touching his lips. Spot looked cute when he was confused.

--

"Okay," Snitch remarked. "This movie seriously sucks. They killed off the best character."

"You know a movie's bad when Snitch says it's bad," Blink remarked.

Snitch gave him an icy glare before flicking off the television. Obviously, the three of them had had enough of _Hard Rain_.

"Hey, whose favorite movie is _The Evil Dead_, _Blink_?" he snapped.

"Hail to the king, baby," Blink lowered his head reverently.

Snitch smacked him. Skittery, however, missed the entire movie—or, rather, what they watched—since he was talking to _Oscar_ on the phone. It was a shame too since Snitch desperately wanted to point out to him that the character that had just died who was the only redeemable part of the movie looked uncannily like their dear friend Skits.

"Is it weird that they're arguing like a married couple already when they're not even officially going out?" Blink queried. "And wasn't this supposed to be a boyfriend-free night? I had to cancel plans to watch for aliens with Mush for this."

"Oh no," Snitch rolled his eyes. "Anything but that."

Blink went to answer him before pausing. "Hey Snitch, I think if we keep rolling our eyes, they'll just be like that forever. And then we'll go dizzy and fall into the subway track."

"Death by sarcasm," he nodded. "Wow, we're sad people."

"I think that was already proven by our discussion about the Coreys," he reminded.

"And that you're dating a boy who has plans to look for—"

He was silenced by a pillow in the face.

"Fuck off, Bennetson!" he kicked him.

"Roast in hell, Rizzio!" he retorted.

"Shhh!" Skittery hissed at them.

Blink and Snitch exchanged a look before rolling their eyes.

"Death by sarcasm," they whispered in unison.

--

"You're not naming Les's bunny after a convicted felon, Jack," David said impatiently. "It's wrong."

Jack shrugged innocently and flashed an award-winning smile at his boyfriend.

"Sweetie, I already have the birth certificate. And it's clever. It's a pun."

"It's a convicted felon, Jack."

Les pet the bunny's downy white fur and smiled. "I like the name."

David sighed huffily and slumped down on the couch. There really had to be something in the water here.

"Oh, well," he shrugged. "The bunny's going to be dead in two weeks so it doesn't matter."

Les covered the rabbit's ears. "Don't let RDJ hear you."

"Yeah," Jack added.

He really couldn't win today. David glanced down at the rabbit with his big, doe eyes and sighed again.

"Fine," he relented. "Welcome to the family—for now."

Jack threw a pillow at him before kneeling down so he was face level with Les who was sitting with the rabbit in his lap.

"Les, I personally promise you that I will let nothing bad happen to that bunny."

Les smiled brightly and threw his arms around Jack's shoulders. Jack scooped up the rabbit.

"Did you hear that? Didja Rabbit Downey Jr.?"

David leaned back on the couch. "I hate my life."

--

Blink sat in his uncomfortable church pew, while an ancient priest from Mexico rhapsodized over the highlights of Bryan's cruelly short life. He felt it twitch in him, tickling the back of his throat. No, not now. It rolled up through his mouth and his lips twitched upwards, forming his—what he thought—clownish mouth into a ridiculous smile. No, no, no, no, no. He tried to cover his grin with his hand but it just made it more conspicuous. Maybe they'd just think he was crying.

"…And when his parrot Pollo died, Bryan simply consoled the family, being a rock for everyone."

He couldn't hold it in; he was going to explode. Laughter, sheer, unhindered laughter burst from his body. Blink tried to cover his mouth but it wasn't working. He just kept laughing and laughing, convulsing in the pew and bumping into those around him. The entire funeral party turned and glared at him, condemning him to hell. But Blink couldn't stop laughing. The world started to spin. Anything but this. He was going to hell in a fucking hand basket…

Blink sat up straight on the couch, heart pounding. The credits for _Army of Darkness_ were still rolling and it was well past midnight. Wiping sleep and—hopefully—the nightmare from his eyes and mind, Blink rose and stretched. A breeze chilled him. He turned to the source and saw that the window was open. He didn't remember opening it. Maybe his mother did in another oh-my-God-I'm-going-to-kill-myself attempt. He walked across the puke green shag to close it and paused. The fingerprints were way too big to be his mother's but not too big as to not be someone, say, Blink's age. For one horrifying moment, he thought that Bryan's ghost was tormenting him for wanting to ditch the funeral. Then he laughed. Bryan's ghost probably had better things to do. His relationship with the boy had never extended past asking for a pencil or a stick of gum. Still, he grabbed his cell phone and hit one on his speed dial.

"_¿Sabes cuándo es burro?" _Mush did not sound amused.

"Mush?" Blink asked. "It's me."

"Oh, hey sweetie," he chirped. "What's up? Why are you calling me at three in the morning?"

"I, uh, had a nightmare," now it sounded stupid and lame. "And someone opened my window. I, uh, think it's a…ghost?"

"Really? Awesome! I so wish I could come over. I've been reading all of these books about ghosts and paranormal happenings and I know a lot about this stuff now. Who do you think it is? River Phoenix? I remember you used to have a crush on him and I know that he died in California but his ashes were spread in Gainesville, that's in Florida, and he could totally migrate up here 'cause he could sense your—"

"Mush," Blink cut him off. "I don't think it's River Phoenix or anyone famous."

There was a pause on the other line before Mush started speaking again, his voice small.

"Maybe it's your dad."

He had never thought of that. His dad, the former grunge rocker turned father who left Seattle to live with the groupie he had gotten pregnant. Who had died in the car accident that had stolen Blink's sight. Was his father really trying to communicate him to jar him out of his fear of funerals? Maybe he just needed to stop talking to his paranormal-obsessed boyfriend at three in the morning.

"Maybe," he said. "Listen honey, I'm sorry I woke you up. I'll talk to you tomorrow at the funeral."

"Kay," he heard him yawn. "Night Blinky."

"G'night."

"Blink?"

"Yeah."

"Love you."

He felt his face heat up. They had never said that before. Was it three am blurting or real?

"I love you too."

Then they hung up and Blink fell back on the couch, knowing that he wouldn't sleep.

--

"Hi Jack!" Esther yelled to him to be heard over the roar of the vacuum. "David's still at the staff meeting. Make yourself at home."

Jack went to answer her when he noticed that she wasn't really paying attention to where she was vacuuming. Meaning that she was about to run over Rabbit Downey Jr.

"Oh, shit," he spoke quietly so Esther couldn't hear him.

With speed reserved for Quicksilver or the Flash or some other fictious comic book character, Jack leapt from the doorway and grabbed the white furball before she could run him over.

"I hate you," he muttered into its long, downy ear as he brought it back to Les and David's room.

--

"So that wasn't so bad," Skittery slung an arm around Blink's besuited shoulders. "Right?"

Blink shrugged him off. "Yeah…but the viewing was freaky."

"That's because his head was bashed."

They shuddered and neared the front of the church where the now empty "show casket" stood empty.

"Skits," Blink stared down at the velvet lining. "We're already going to hell, right?"

"Uh-huh," he was staring awkwardly at the reception hall where they were to meet the rest of the party.

"Okay, just making sure."

Blink got behind the head of the casket and pretended to cry.

"My son's a homosexual," he quoted tearfully. "And I love him. I LOVE MY DEAD GAY SON!"

Skittery let out peals of laughter. "At least you're you."

He nodded, glancing at the door leading to the small graveyard behind the church.

"Skits, I'll be there in a few minutes, I have to do something," he said.

"Okay. I'll give Bumlets and his family your well wishes," Skittery waved to him.

Blink nodded and went out to the graveyard. Skittery, however, walked right into the lobby of the church where the party was to meet before heading over to the reception hall. He found Mush standing awkwardly by himself, biting his lip and staring at the crush of people. He lightly touched the sleeve of his blazer.

"Go out to the cemetery out back," he whispered into his ear before going over to the Perez family.

--

"I'll be right back, Davey," Jack called. "I have to drain my lizard."

"Ew, I wish you wouldn't call it that," was his reply. "It sounds like I just committed bestiality. Thanks Jack. Now I'm a furry."

He shook his head and went into the bathroom. To his surprise, the lid was up. To his greater surprise, Rabbit Downey Jr. was precariously waddling around the seat.

"Oh, shit!" he snapped and lunged for him, slipping as he grabbed him and falling right on his ass.

He checked the rabbit for injury and once he was certain that it was perfectly fine, he glowered.

"I hate you," he muttered.

--

Mush walked out amongst the gravestones, touching each one lightly finding that he had nothing else to do…until he saw Blink. He was crouched before a headstone near the back, shabbily kept with overgrown, dead grass and wilted flowers.

"Blinky?" he asked.

He glanced up to see a red, tearstained face.

"Awww," Mush ran towards him and hugged him.

Just as he suspected, Blink was by his father's grave.

"I didn't think it'd be here," he whispered. "I never got to come here. Never got to say good-bye."

"I'm sure he knows," Mush said with a smile. "I'm sure."

Blink smiled weakly and buried his face in Mush's shoulder.

--

"Oh, shit!" Jack cried as he saw Rabbit Downey Jr. sniffing Sarah's still plugged in porcelain hair straightner.

Once more, he heroically saved the rabbit from certain death and once more, he glowered at it.

"I hate you."

The rabbit stared up at him with one adorable eye and twitched his nose as if to say 'How can you stay made at me? I'm so cute!'.

"Stop mocking me!" he snapped at it.

--

"There Les," Jack handed him the cage. "Now you can perform whatever magic  
show or whatever your fifth grade heart desires. I brought RDJ just in time  
for the finale."  
Les beamed up at him, eyes nearly shrouded by the oversized top hat he wore.  
He took the cage in both arms and looked in, frowning.  
"Jack..." his frown deepened. "Rabbit Downey Jr.'s dead."  
"What!" Jack snatched the cage back and stared at the rabbit.  
He set the cage on the floor and started poking it.  
"No, no no," he moaned.  
He wasn't breathing and he wasn't warm.  
"That's okay," Les said brightly, taking off his top hat. "I'm used to it."  
Jack, however, wasn't so calm. He was crying. All that work to keep him  
from dying those many, many times ruined and wasted by, what? Old age? Les  
pat him on the back with his magic wand.  
"It's okay, Jack. It's just a bunny."


	24. The Monster Mash

"If they play 'The Monster Mash' one more time, I'm going to choke a bitch," Skittery said grumpily, leaning against the risers in the gym.

Snitch elbowed him playfully and draped an arm around his friend's shoulders. "Aw, I think Oscar's rubbing off on you."

Skittery shoved him away. The four of them—plus Mush and Jack—were in the gym for the annual Halloween, costumes mandatory dance.

"Or your costume," he retorted.

Snitch was an orca but a weird one. He had just painted his face and wore flippers and tail and dorsal fin with a wetsuit. It was a cool costume. Not that anyone was going to admit it.

"I hate mine," Blink complained. "I'm sick of being a pirate every year. Next year, I'm going as Snake from _Escape from New York_…"

David laughed, pushing his vampire teeth back into his mouth. His costume was last minute, having nothing else to wear. He snuggled closer to Jack who was dressed as the Mummy from the camptastic mummy movies from the 1950s. It had been Blink's idea. In spite of the rags and face paint, he was hot.

"I like you as a pirate," Mush remarked. "You're like Johnny Depp!"

He was a super hero—David couldn't remember which—and held Blink protectively around the waist.

"So where's Ted Bundy?" Jack asked.

Skittery glared at him or as much as someone in a zombie costume could glare.

"He didn't want to come," Skittery shrugged. "Asshole."

"An asshole who's biting your—" Snitch meant to say 'butt' but the word got caught in his throat.

He saw a boy walking through the gym looking like the dude from _The Crow_. His breath increased as he watched the curly haired boy maneuver around the crush of dancing people.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," he whispered. "Who is that?"

Jack followed his gaze and smirked. "Ah, liking them young, Snitch?"

Snitch's face heated up which he hoped the black face makeup on his face covered.

"Young?"

"He's just turned fifteen. Got skipped two grades," he explained. "He's in my bio class."

Snitch bit the inside of his cheek.

"Wait…" Blink leaned forward, pulling Mush with him. "I heard that too. That's Itey!"

"_That's_ Itey?" Snitch's eyes widened. "The little freshman? Man, did he _just_ hit puberty?"

"Oi," Skittery rolled his eyes. "This is so _Degrassi_. I'm going to make a call."

He started away.

"Give Charles Manson my love!" Blink yelled after him.

"Come on, Dave," Jack kissed his neck. "Let's go find Race and Spot. Then go…dance."

"Is it me or are things less hot between them?" Blink asked, watching them retreat. "I remember when they were all over each other."

"You watch people too much," Snitch said, not tearing his eyes from Itey.

"And the award for Pulitzer High's biggest hypocrite goes to…Nero Daniel Rizzio!" Blink yelled.

Mush giggled. "Is that something you can get voted for in the yearbook?"

Snitch rolled his eyes, disbelieving that he was stuck with them.

--

"You're not missing anything," Skittery said, kicking his long legs as he sat on the toilet. "So what are you doing?"

"Practicing this fucking piece of shit," Oscar complained.

Skittery heard the sound of slamming and twanging. Obviously, Oscar and his guitar weren't getting along.

"Not going well?" he asked.

"I need a fucking tuner."

Skittery stifled a laugh knowing that, if said laugh was heard, he'd possibly lose an appendage.

"I'll get you one," he said absently. "Your birthday's soon."

"Yeah, February."

"Rowr," he couldn't resist.

To his great surprise, Oscar laughed. Maybe he was rubbing off on him just as his friends claimed that Oscar was rubbing off on him.

"Yeah," he started. "Shit, gotta go. Dad just got home. I'll, uh, call you or whatever."

And before Skittery could respond, the line went dead. Damn he was a paranoid little shit.

Who's biting your butt! 

He could almost _hear_ Snitch's voice echo in his head.

--

"So then this guy starts screaming in, like, Korean to get off his fire escape or whatever because I puked in his flowerbox or whatever, right?" Dutchy was saying.

Bumlets and Pie Eater exchanged a glance and rolled their eyes. Pie was most certainly not amused. Just as Bumlets was getting back to normal—although a different normal than before which constituted the remaining-ness of the Mohawk and the presence of a Poison t-shirt—Dutchy was going insane.

"Riveting," Bumlets stated. "Tell us the one about how you swung naked from the rollercoasters at Coney Island again."

Dutchy shoved him. "You two suck."

Pie shoved him back which shoved Dutchy into Bumlets who shoved him back into Pie.

"Okay," Dutchy giggled. "We're so archaic."

"The caricature of high school teens," Bumlets agreed.

Pie exhaled, feeling normalcy—weird though it was—return.

--

Snoddy sat, dejected, on the risers. He was watching Jake stick his tongue down the throat of some random girl on the scuffed, crowded floor of the gym. She had her long, acrylic nails dug into the black fabric of his ninja costume. He looked so cute with the hood pulled down and his hair boyishly tousled. It almost made his entire body roil with jealousy.

"Hey," Spot Conlon sat next to him.

Snoddy blinked his eyes. Spot was school royalty. What was he doing talking to a peon like him?

"Um, hi," he said back.

"So you like Mathers?" he asked.

Snoddy bit his lip. "That obvious?"

Spot nodded. "Yeah, I know all about unrequited love."

Snoddy snorted then regretted it. Spot would probably tear his nose off if he heard him.

"What?" he asked, quirking a brow.

"It's just…you're Spot Conlon. You're hot. You're in the most popular group in school," Snoddy pointed out. "You can get anyone."

"Not everyone…" he mused.

He wanted to press him—hello gossip!—but he didn't. Spot was obviously sharing something with him and he didn't have the heart to tell anyone. Not even Jake. What was this? A conscious?

"Like?" he pressed.

"Like it's none of your business," he snapped.

Before Snoddy could react, Race joined them. He was dressed as, Snoddy assumed, one of the guys from _Reservoir Dogs_.

"Spot, Jack wants to meet up," he said.

His voice sounded almost cold towards Spot. Snoddy wondered what went on between them. The lives of the interesting were always so…interesting. Compared to his own life where it consisted of getting ignored by his father, getting berated by his mother, getting kicked by his brother and lusting after Jake. Not the stuff of the movies. As soon as they left, Jake joined him, alone. He wiped his lips and sat next to him.

"Hey buddy," he enthused. "You look sad and lonely."

Snoddy shrugged. "Don't feel like being happy."

Jake put a hand on his forehead.

"Sure you aren't sick? You're _always_ happy."

Snoddy shoved him good-naturedly but he loved the contact. He really wanted to kiss Jake right about now. But he didn't.

"Well come on," he stood. "Let's bail. And I don't mean—"

Snoddy waved his hand. "I won't make actor references. But yeah, let's go somewhere. A restaurant or something."

"Excellent," he smiled a smile that made him melt. "I'm starved!"

--

Everyone was fighting. Spot wasn't talking to Jack for having sex with David. He also wasn't talking to David because, frankly, they never spoke. He wasn't speaking with Race after he told him that he wanted him and he was pretty much using his crush on Jack to get to kiss him and Patrick Theodore Conlon did _not_ like being used. Race wasn't speaking to Spot for spurning him and Jack wasn't speaking to either of them for not telling him that they were going out. Or so he thought. Plus, after gathering this so-called meeting, all he had done was neck David which, to Spot's surprise, didn't amuse the boy at all.

He clicked his tongue ring angrily against the back of his teeth, noting that Jack's own piercing looked kind of funny when juxtaposed against his mummy costume.

Finally, he came up for air. "So, why didn't you say you guys were together?"

"We aren't," Race said grumpily.

Then he lost interest and tried to make out with David once more.

"Jack, no," he sighed. "We're in public."

Jack pouted but David held his ground. Spot lightened his clicking. Well, well, things were not perfect in paradise. To his own surprise, he found himself not really caring.

"Fine," he relented. "I will save this for when we are alone."

David smiled. "Fat chance tonight. Sarah's alone with…_him_."

His smile faded and Jack put his arms around him. Obviously David wasn't fond of Sarah's ape of a boyfriend. Spot couldn't blame him. Not that he was going to offer any words of encouragement or condolence. He still didn't like the boy.

"Well," Jack said. "Let's blow this stand and ruin it. Save your sister's virginity."

Then, without another word to Spot or Race, they took off.

"I think the flame's dying," Race remarked. "You might wanna move in."

His voice sounded robotic.

"Listen," Spot stated. "I'm sorry that you came at me. I mean, that sounds awful doesn't it? I mean…why are you smiling?"

Race wasn't just smiling, he was laughing.

"You're tongue-tied," he stated. "It's cute. I like it. And I'm not pissed at you. I'm just…"

He leaned in and kissed him. Spot was surprised at how much fluttering he felt in the pit of his stomach. Over their shoulder, the DJ played 'The Monster Mash' for the seventh time that night and they made out in front of their gasping, gossiping students.


	25. When I Come Around

"So I don't know what's worse," Jake complained. "My grandmother screaming that I'll go to hell for my promiscuous ways or my mother sobbing over stuffing."

Snoddy listened, enraptured. Well, he was watching Jake's adorable, sensuous lips as he talked but he was listening too. Apparently, Jake's family had just found out about all of the sex he had with all of the different girls. Needless to say, they were none too pleased.

"So how was your Thanksgiving?" he asked, leaning forward and toying with a loose string on that ski cap Snoddy hated.

He shrugged. "Same 'ol, same 'ol. Mom saying I'm never going to get anyone because I'm not attractive enough, dad ignoring me and Chase throwing mashed potatoes at my face. A regular Thanksgiving at the Flannery house. My grandparents didn't even show up. They're all ashamed of me."

Jake put an arm around him.

"They'll come around," he promised.

He nearly melted.

_If only you would…_

"Okay," Jake smiled suddenly. "Here's what we're going to do. We are going to go out, get wasted and then I'm going to crash at your place."

"It's a school night."

"So?"

This was why he loved Jake.

--

"My Thanksgiving sucked," Blink lamented. "My mother invited one of her barely legal 'friends' over. I swear that he graduated when we were freshmen."

"Total Preston?"

"Total. Anyway, they all but fuck on our table after the cranberry and then I just excuse myself and sit in my room listening to Third-Eye Blind."

Snitch aired himself with his _Friday the 13th_ t-shirt.

"That's nothing. We don't even celebrate Thanksgiving," he stated. "My dad left my mom that day and we've never celebrated it. Of course, I think he left her because she named me Nero."

David noted a hint of sadness in his voice under the joke. Obviously, this particular holiday made him depressed.

"My dad and his newest boyfriend were over," Skittery said with a shrug.

"Family," David shrugged himself. "Nothing major. I mostly hung out with Jack."

Snitch elbowed him, any sadness gone. "I bet you did."

"Jealous!" Blink shouted.

"Damn right I am," he stated. "Everyone has a boyfriend but me. Itey is totally not in any of my classes."

Blink pouted exaggeratedly. "Awwww. Poor Snitchy-poo."

David laughed as Snitch tackled Blink to the ground. He felt warm and giggly. He'd say something to them about it but he didn't want to have to exchange his penis for a set of ovaries.

--

"Did you hear?" a boy kneeled down by his friend. "Jack Kelly is totally going to break it off with that new boy."

"Saw it coming," the friend, a girl named Tina Hooper, hooked a piece of brown hair behind her ear. "Never understood why they were together in the first place. I'd want Jack if he weren't gay."

"I'm gay," the first boy, Harvey Dawson, said. "But yeah, I know. But his second-in-commands are fucking each other."

"Saw it coming," Tina Hooper repeated. "But speaking of sexual orientation, who else thinks Jake Mathers is in the closet?"

"Word," Harvey said. "I mean, he hangs around with Sean Flannery, the biggest gay in school."

She nodded. "Yeah. But, ohmigod! Perry Palanski. Did you see him?"

Harvey nodded. "Yeah, total doper! What happened?"

"He's such a freak now!" she hooted. "Right up there with Juan Perez. I feel bad for Noah. Although they put up with his food habits all the time."

Harvey nodded.

"Shit!" he squeaked. "Here comes Jack!"

They scattered as he and his little Jew boyfriend came by, holding hands.

"Hi Jack!" they chorused.

He ignored them. David waved.

--

The ambient temperature of the hallway went up at least ten degrees as Sarah felt the dial of a locker hit her square in the back. She worked her arms around Morris's neck and felt his hands settle themselves on her ass. This had to be the closest thing on earth to sex without actually having sex. It was positively heavenly. The way his hands seems to form perfectly over her body, the way his tongue explored her mouth and how good it felt to be kissed in front of pretty much every girl he's slept with in the school was almost orgasmic. Then someone cleared their throat. What the hell? Did her mother follow her to school? Sarah's heart sped up. Then she realized it was only vice principal Snyder. Which, in some ways, wasn't as bad but in other ways, was worse. He was tapping one wing tip on the ground and clicking his tongue.

"How's it goin', Snyder?" Morris asked, an easy grin on his face.

"My office," he commanded. "Now."

Sarah did her best to keep from hyperventilating.

--

David couldn't believe how uncomfortable he felt with Jack. Just before break, their bodies fit together like two perfect puzzle pieces and they were in love. Now, he was feeling almost repulsed at his kiss. What was wrong with him? Well, Jack certainly wasn't helping things. He was sprawled out on the couch in his living room, watching _American Psycho_ for not the first, not the second but the _third_ time that night. If David had to watch Patrick Bateman run naked down a hallway, drenched in blood and wielding a chainsaw one more time, he was going to reenact that scene on Jack. Plus, the fact that the actor looked uncannily like the goofily grinning boy who claimed to be his boyfriend sitting next to him was not lost on David. The problem was, their relationship wasn't _going_ anywhere. After they had sex, they slept apart. There were no more hallway make-outs. They had hit a plateau. David didn't even know if Jack loved him back.

But there was a way he could test it.

Surreptiously, David fake-sneezed into his hand. No reaction. Well, maybe Jack couldn't hear him over the hooker's screams and the whir of the chainsaw onscreen. He tried again. Still nothing. This time, he let loose an explosive sneeze.

"Shhh!" Jack hissed.

That did it. David marched resolutely over to the television and flicked it off.

"Hey!" Jack shouted.

"Hey yourself! We're breaking up!" David shot back before storming away.

He tripped a little over his feet but he hoped that it didn't lessen the dramatics and intensity of his exit.

"Huh?" Jack asked the blank, still buzzing screen. "What'd I do?"

--

Jake opened his eyes Tuesday morning and was aware of two things: he had an erection and said erection was pressing against Snoddy's thigh. Shit. He had heard about these things happening, hell, he had heard Jack Kelly telling Spot and Racetrack in the bathroom that David got one after the first time they had sex. However, David was gay. Jake was not. He was straight. He had had sex with countless amounts of girls and he never, ever felt lust towards a male. Let alone Snoddy. He stared at the room around him. He had been in Snoddy's bedroom for, roughly, one third of his entire life. They had met at the Y during swim lessons. Fuck, there was a picture of them in their swimsuits and wingies on the nightstand next to him. He had been the first person Snoddy had come out to. Snoddy had been the first person Jake told when he lost his virginity when his mother's friend Susan pretty much mauled him at the tender age of thirteen. They had spent nights fast asleep in the same bed for years and Jake had never _felt_ anything. He even had his own drawer full of pants and t-shirts.

Maybe it wasn't a lust erection, he probably just really had to piss. He felt his bladder strain and let out a sigh of relief. Phew. Yeah, he just had to piss. However, that didn't really seem to matter.

What mattered was that he was packing wood in Snoddy's bed and that he was a very, very bad boy.

Of course, the minute Jake tried to break free and haul ass to the bathroom was when Snoddy gave a little snort and rolled over so that his penis was now jabbing him in the stomach as if to say 'Good morning, Sean. How you doing?'

"Snod," he hissed. "I gotta get up."

He grunted in a surprisingly manly way and nestled against him tighter, which made the whole situation a bit more uncomfortable. Or embarrassing. Or, for the most accurate one, potentially disastrous.

Jake inched away a little more, feeling himself break free of Snoddy's Vulcan grip of stop-Jake-from-pissing-his-erection-away.

"Jake…what is that poking me in the stomach?" he mumbled sleepily.

"Well, don't be alarmed. There's nothing to worry about…but that's my penis."

"Oh. Wait…_WHAT_!" Snoddy shot up from the bed, letting out peals of 'ewwwwwwww's and other things to express his disgust.

It was strange coming from a boy who not only _had_ a penis but liked other boys with penises. While he was having a meltdown, Jake excused himself to the bathroom and peed his heart out.

"That better had been just for piss," Snoddy accused. "And that you didn't leave my toilet seat up. Because, like, you didn't masturbate in the shower or whatever, right?"

Snoddy had dropped out of biology.

"I peed," Jake promised. "Because it had nothing to do with being in close proximity to your godlike form, Snodster."

He stretched and yawned before getting out of bed.

"Whatever, I'm going to shower," he announced.

--

As the hot water rushed over Snoddy's body, he couldn't help but singing gleefully. Jake had come around. He had had a boner in his bed! He loved him! He loved him! Snoddy had been in love with Jake for eons. At one point, he was sad when he was sad, happy when he was happy, and willing to jump in a snake pit naked if Jake had asked him too. But now, now he had his little Jakey. He was almost euphoric. If only he didn't have to go to school with a hangover.

"Wake me up, before you go-go!" he sang joyously, squirting Glisten shampoo over his soaked locks.


	26. Too Hot for Tea but I'll Drink it Anyway

Jake settled into the Flannery's kitchen and drew his legs up on the table, munching on a chocolate chip cookie dough Slim Fast meal bar which was all Linda Flannery allowed anyone—visiting or not—to eat in the mornings. He knew that they were probably going to be late for school but they had driver's ed (a vital class in Manhattan) first period so he figured that Coach Wiesel wouldn't care. He knew that he should be contemplating his boner in the bed but he was certain that it was one-time-really-have-to-pee thing. He in no way harbored lust towards his best, not to mention _male_, friend.

Snoddy strolled into the kitchen, finally emerging from his boiling shower. He had a Cher t-shirt on and one of the smuggest smiles Jake had ever seen.

"Hey, buddy," he smiled. "Hangover arrived yet?"

He held up a cup of coffee to answer his question before plopping down at the table.

"Why do we drink alcohol if we know it's going to make our heads hurt the next day?" Snoddy bemoaned. "Doesn't it also, like dehydrate your brain or something? Like, who would want that? And, like, you're downing Coronas, knowing you have school tomorrow and knowing that it'll give you a ginormous headache, which'll make you all dumb in school and you just keep chugging."

Jake wanted to point out that Snoddy already _was_ dumb in school but he decided to cut him a break.

"I think alcohol deadens what alcohol does when you wake up the next morning," he said instead.

He went to continue when he noticed that Snoddy still wore that smirky smile.

"What gives?" he nudged him with the toe of his sneaker. "Aren't you supposed to be lamenting about never drinking again and then down seven cups of coffee and being a hummingbird for the rest of the day until you hit a window thinking it's a doorway? You're acting like you just got to bang Heath Ledger."

He named Snoddy's number one dream. Why he liked the Joker-faced actor was beyond him.

"It's nothing," he said, still smiling and making Jake positive that it was definitely something.

"Spill," Jake pressed. "Or I'll…tell everyone that your real name is Shawnee because your mother wanted to name you after the actress from the Kevin Dillon version of _The Blob_!"

Even after that, he was still ODing on smug pills. Jake decided that action was necessary. With the agile reflexes of a ninja, Jake leapt up and grabbed him around the waist before upending him the best he could—Snoddy was a very solid boy despite his tall, willowy appearance.

"I'll tickle you," he threatened, wiggling his fingers. "Or drop you!"

Snoddy thrashed. "No! Don't!"

Dropping Snoddy would be too cruel—and possibly knock out his remaining brain cells—so Jake decided to leave that threat empty. Instead, he righted him and kept his hands firmly at his waist since, being shorter, Jake couldn't hold them above his head to add for more tickling threat.

"Ha!" Snoddy shouted.

"Ha?"

Jake wasn't on the clue train. What was his damage?

"Give it up, Jake. I know you want me or else you wouldn't have woken up in my bed with a _boner_!"

Jake realized that his hands were still hovering above Snoddy's, ahem, area in such a way that could be entirely misconstrued by someone like the dark-haired, insane boy in front of him. He yanked his ski cap down further on his head so he wouldn't grab a knife from the knife block and jam it in his head.

"Oh my God! Are you on monkey crack? How many times do we have to go _over_ this? I'm straight, Snoddy, straight. Straight, straight, _straight_!" he screamed before storming out of the apartment. "Find your own ride, you psychopath!"

"Jake!" he mewled after him. "Jake! But I love you Jake!"

He whipped around at the door. "No, Snoddy. You love Heath Ledger and I love _girls_."

And then he was gone, slamming the door behind him.

--

Spot leaned against the locker, kneading his fingers over the face of Michael Palin on his Python t-shirt, trying to slow down his heart. He managed to remain cool and nonchalant on the outside but inside, his organs roiled and twisted horribly.

"Jeez, Spot," Race remarked. "What's wrong?"

Spot blinked. How could Race figure out that he was freaking out? He looked completely normal on the outside save for the whole kneading thing. He had to do it. It was now or never. He grabbed Race roughly by Gwen Stefani on his shirt and brought their mouths together. There was the rough-clink of teeth and the soft touch of lips and Spot felt all of these feelings bubble up to his brain, leaving him dizzy and lightheaded.

"Hey, Spot!" Tina Hooper, a girl in his fifth period psychology class who he happened to hate, chirped. "Are you two, like, going out now?"

Spot broke the kiss with Race and glared at her. He really hated that little ditz. But whatever, she was going to gossip anyway so he might as well give her the truth.

"Yeah," he put an arm around Race's shoulders. "We are."

Race looked at him. "We are?"

"We are," Spot repeated.

With an annoying squeal that made Spot want to chop off her equally annoying high ponytail, Tina skirted away.

"I fucking hate her," he remarked.

"Spot, what was that?"

"That was me asking you out," he leaned in for another kiss.

"What about Jack? I thought you liked him."

Spot sighed and leaned against the bay of lockers next to him. They were a mere three minutes from having to go to fourth period. He wanted to spend that time making out with Race. Now he was bringing up Jack.

"Jack…he's…insane," he said finally. "I mean, I thought I did and all that but I guess I just had to face that it was never going to happen. And that it's not what I want…"

"And you want…me?" Race quirked a brow. "I hate to break it to ya but you're passing up Batman and going for Robin. Hell, I'm not _even_ Robin. I'm Robin's understudy."

Spot slung an arm around his shoulders. "Well you're _my_ understudy you little son of a bitch. Besides, Jack's with Jacobs."

"Not anymore," a voice next to him said.

They turned to see a girl with wavy brown hair spinning the combination lock to her locker. She looked like a leper with all the marks on her neck.

"How do you know?" Spot asked harshly.

She sighed and turned. "Because David's my brother."

"And he interrupted us again last night," another voice added.

"Riveting," Spot said, glaring that fucking ape DeLancey down. He never liked him. Granted, Spot liked a select few but he just never had. However, he was a bit perturbed that Jack hadn't told them that he and David broke up. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen Jack all day.

But before he could press the matter further, the first bell shrilly rang, ushering juniors to fourth period and the two seniors they were standing with to, well, make out on the locker, as it was their free period.

--

Dutchy pressed his back against the nook between the lockers and the door to his French classroom. Right from third period to the end of lunch, he had been getting high at the bleachers. Now he was still woozy and trying to make it into French inconspicuously. Had he been sober, he would've known that this was to no avail. Madam Bouvier had eyes like a hawk. But he wasn't sober so he tried to sneak in.

"Ah, Jansen Palanski," she cooed in her fake French accent. "So good of you to join us."

His frazzled mind tried to think up an excuse but all he came out with was. "It's Perry. Perry Palanski."

"That's not what my roster says, _Jansen_," she raised her penciled, thin eyebrows. "And I believe we've gone over this."

"Yeah," he said. "But you still call me Jansen. I told you, it's _Perry_. My middle name."

The rest of the class chortled at him.

"Jansen, sit down," she commanded tiredly.

Dutchy slid into his seat next to Snitch. The shorter boy shook his head, laughing silently. He stuck his tongue out at him.

--

Jack rolled onto his stomach on the couch and tossed what appeared to be his umpteenth Snickers wrapper into the small wastebasket he had brought with him as he camped out on the couch. This wasn't his thing. This…moping thing where he sat around, feeling sorry for himself and wondering how to get David to take him back. He didn't do that. Period. Jack Kelly didn't stew. Period. Luckily, he was alone. Daddy dearest was at work and his future stepmumsy was out planning the wedding. She would need him eventually but Jack knew that Erin secretly wished that he were a girl so she could tear into her _and_ force her into a hideous bridesmaid dress. Thankfully, Jack was all man. It didn't improve his mood in the least. Why did David break up with him? What had he done wrong? He remembered what David had said in the van on the way back from Chester. He had pretended not to hear. David loved him. David was in love with him. And, he knew, that he was in love with David. So, really, he didn't see the problem. Maybe David was going through some bizarre male PMS that only Jewish boys got. Although that didn't make any sense even to his glazed, sleep deprived mind.

"Jesus, Frankie, are you still moping around?"

And cue Maleficent. Jack peeked up from the couch and dropped back down, groaning. He felt sick—probably due to the sheer amount of empty Snickers wrappers in the wastebin—and tired. Too sick and tired, in fact, to remind Bitchy McBitchbitch that he went by Jack now. Erin loomed over the couch and glared down her Jennifer Tilly nose at him.

"You know, Frankie," she stated matter-of-factly. "You'll bet pudgy if you keep doing this."

Jack glared at her, unable to muster a succinct reply. Well, maybe not _un_able.

"Fuck you," he spat.

--

Skittery slid into fifth period home ec., feeling exhausted.

"Hey," Jake greeted blithely. He seemed preoccupied. "You look tired."

Yeah, he was. He had had a late night. From the looks of it, so had Jake.

"I am," Skittery yawned.

Jake peered at his throat and mustered a small laugh. "I can see why."

Skittery blushed and put his hand over his throat where several, raisin-like purple marks were. For someone who wanted to remain in secret, Oscar would leave marks on his neck after sucking on them almost vampirically.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "But what's your excuse?"

Jake just shrugged and tugged on his ski cap. "Stuff."

"Specific," he said dryly.

At that moment, Snoddy strode into the room…and right past Jake. He plopped in the free seat next to David's sister Sarah.

"What was that about? Are you two fighting?"

Jake turned away and pretended to fill out the rest of his conversions homework. Skittery didn't press him. Obviously, something had happened.

"Hey fucker," Oscar slid into his seat next to him.

"Hey yourself, asshole," Skittery retorted.

Oscar punched him in the arm, he smacked him lightly back. Only lightly as to not draw attention. Anyone who _touched_ Oscar threateningly got punched or, at the very least, gotten yelled it with the word 'fuck' employed many a time.

"Fuck you,"

"Wouldn't on a bet."

That was how they did the affection thing in public.


	27. Sylvia? How Do You Call Your Loverboy?

"You look like shit," Race commented that morning in the bathroom. "Have you been sick since last week?"

Jack nodded numbly, lighting his cigarette. Sometimes it was just easier to lie. He knew that he didn't look like his normal self. His hair lacked luster and his face was pale making the dark circles that were forever around his eyes stand out more so he looked like a losing prizefighter…or a raccoon. He was dressed in a drab gray sweatshirt jacket that he kept using the sleeve to wipe his nose which felt clogged. That probably had something to do with the weather and the fact that he hadn't eaten anything containing any nutrients to help his immune system. Not that he had been eating anything period. A single thought about David and how they were through—as in, done with—made his stomach clench. What the fuck happened? Not just with them but what the fuck happened to _him_? He glanced at himself in the mirror. That didn't looked like him. That boy looked like an accident victim.

"Jack," Spot piped up. "When was the last time you cleaned your nose ring?"

And to top all off…his piercing was infected. He was not having a good day and he hadn't even gone to first period yet. First period…his stomach knotted. David was in that class. Maybe if he saw this shell of Jack Kelly that he was then he would see what their breakup had done and take him back. Take him back. Jack hadn't never had an actual relationship but in the scenarios he had allowed his little thirteen-year-old mind to conjure up as he lay on his bed, arms clasped around an old Shaun Cassidy LP he found in his mother's belongings was that, when it inevitably came to an end—he was a dreamer but realistic—that he'd be the one doing the dumping until the then faceless man of his dreams would come groveling back to him. Now that man had a face. A pale, narrow Jewish face with startlingly blue eyes. And he wasn't groveling. He looked perfectly fine from what Spot and Race had reported. Jack was the disaster survivor look-alike.

"It's kinda gross," Race remarked.

"So's your face," Jack grumbled in reply, the first words, in fact, that he had spoken all day.

He also wanted to point out that what _else_ was gross was the fact that Race and Spot were holding hands and indulging in envy-inspiring PDAs but that would just plain be mean. So he settled for handing his still freshly lit, not-yet-smoked cigarette to Race and striding out of the bathroom.

--

Jack didn't get his chance to talk to David until free period. He spotted him heading towards the front steps with Skittery, Blink and Snitch.

"Dave," he said, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

David looked around at the others, almost bewildered. Luckily, Snitch grabbed his shoulder and shoved him forward.

"We'll wait for ya, baby," he stated before the three of them sauntered off.

The hallway was so empty then. Everyone had gone where they wanted to go for free period. Jack leaned forward and kissed David on the lips only to be shoved away a moment later.

"Jack," he said impatiently. "We're broken up…remember?"

"Why? I mean, tell me why we broke up."

David sighed and ran his fingers through his curls. Jack assumed that it was so he didn't strangle him. He was grateful for the restraint.

"Jack, if I told you then…" his voice trailed off and he sighed again. "You don't get it. You just don't get it."

"I would if you told me."

"You're supposed to know!" he fumed.

Jack didn't even register the fact that he was cute when he was mad. He was too confused.

"David…I love you."

"Right. You love fucking me Jack. You loved fucking the virgin and jading me up, right?" he snapped, eyes suddenly filled with venom.

"No," he said. "Look at me. I'm a fucking mess David. Because we're not together. I. Love. You."

"Right," he repeated. "You can get anyone you want so why are you bothering with me?"

"Pull your head out of your ass, David!"

"Only if you do first," he seethed, turning to go. "Bye, Jack."

He watched him turn to go where his friends were waiting. Jack started after him.

"David, I meant it," he shouted after him. "I love you."

David turned around. "So did I. Go fuck yourself, Jack. I'm sick of it."

He didn't mean that, he couldn't mean that. Jack punched the locker next to him, commanding himself not to cry because he hated crying and especially crying in public even if that public was just a row of lockers and the fading echoes of footsteps. If he had looked up, he would've seen David surreptitiously wiping tears away.

--

It wasn't that hard, Snoddy realized, the not talking to Jake thing. Things could be worse. Granted, he had never pictured himself uttering those words but it really could be worse. All last week, it was a little hard. They really didn't talk to anyone outside of each other. So they each spent lunch apart. However, over the weekend, he was fine. Without wondering what and who Jake was doing. Without worrying about going out to some seedy bar and getting wasted and throwing up on Jake's shoes—as per usual—or any of that. He felt good.

"Hey, Snoddy," he greeted him fourth period.

He turned away, not wanting to speak to him. Jake had hurt him and he was determined that he see that.

"Come on, Snods," he poked him with the eraser of his pencil. "I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"Snoddy, turn around."

Reluctantly, he did so. Jake looked cuter than ever in his ski cap that Snoddy usually despised. He cursed him for it.

"Snoddy, I never knew that you…" he sighed. "Claim to love me."

"I don't claim," he pouted. "I do."

He knew he sounded like a little kid but he was borderline pissed. No…borderline wasn't the word. The border was far, far away from his pisseddom. And staring at Jake looking devastatingly cute in his worn t-shirt and jeans made his heart do the pitter-patter. Especially since he had bought Jake that shirt back in middle school.

"I know but…I'm straight," Jake repeated. "And I guess I…overreacted. I shouldn't have. It's just you get me so aggravated sometimes that it's hard to be your friend. Like you're just waiting all this time for me to have some sexual epiphany and want to bone you. And I don't think that's fair because I like you for you. Not because you're no competition with me with girls or because you pretty much _are_ a woman in the body of a gay boy. Which, by the way, I never would have had the guts to say. But I do love you, Snods. Just not…in the way that you want."

He finished that pitiful speech with an uneasy smile. Snoddy hated him for it. He hated him because now, because of that little monologue, he loved him more than ever.

--

"Blinky," Mush whined. "Stop looking at me like I'm insane."

"And how do you want me to look at you after what you just suggested?"

They were lying in Blink's bed after school in a state of post-coital bliss…until Mush made the most asinine suggestion that took his already cryptozoology-paranormal-fried brain to a whole new plane of insanity.

"Come on, Blink, it's a good idea," he pleaded. "Please, please. I won't make you come to my soccer game Friday."

"…Mush, I _like_ going to your soccer games," he quirked a flaxen brow. "But this is just asinine. Mush, there's the brink of insanity and then there's the abyss which you have apparently fallen into."

Mush covered his eyes and squeezed his eyes shut. "Ewww. Don't quote _St. Elmo's Fire_! I'll ralf!"

The movie—which, as Blink knew, Skittery despised with every fiber of his being—was Mush's ultimate torture if you but sang the theme song or quoted it.

"Then stop suggesting this!" Blink tickled him.

Mush contorted his body and squealed but then stilled, as Blink grew tired of tickling him so soon after sex. He pouted and he had to turn away. Mush's pout was the most powerful thing on earth. Ain't no weapon forged that could beat it.

"Fine," he relented. "But David, Snitch and Skits aren't gonna go for it and we need five people."

"They will!" he chirped optimistically. "Besides, it'll be fun."

Blink frowned. Séances were a lot of things. Fun, to him, was not one of them.

--

"Okay," Pie Eater said slowly. "Bumlets _just_ got back from Cuba so everything that happened over break and after Bryan's funeral could have just made him cry more for a straightjacket. We're going to have to deal with that. Come on."

He spoke slowly so Dutchy, who wasn't soberly sound, could understand him. He bobbed his head drunkenly and they knocked on the door to the apartment.

"_Hola_," Mrs. Perez greeted.

They were used to it. When Bumlets came back from family vacation, he spoke Spanish for at least a week. Apparently, he wasn't the only one in his family that did. Pie and Dutchy mustered smiles—well, Pie did since Dutchy had one permanently plastered on his stoned face—and walked down to Bumlets's room.

"Dude," Dutchy breathed. "This isn't what I expected."

The entire room was dedicated to heavy and hair metal. It was amazing.

"_¿Qué pasa?_" Bumlets asked happily.

Pie and Dutchy could only blink. Until…

"Dude!" Dutchy held up his hand for a high five. "Excellent. _And_ you ditched the Mohawk!"

It wastrue and, thanks to his Hispanic roots, his natural hair had grown in at least a half-inch.

"Yeah," he said.

"So, what'd you do in Cuba, dude? Other than, like, buy out their supply of metal posters."

"In Cuba? _Hago de capullo_," he replied. "And I've had those. I'm kind of a metal geek."

"Really?" they asked in unison.

"Really," he confirmed before hopping to his feet. "And I'm bored. Let's go somewhere _ahora_."

"_Sì_," Dutchy agreed, smiling at his minimal Spanish.

Pie laughed but it wasn't at him. He was glad that things were finally getting back to normal. Albeit, polo shirts were exchanged for band tees on two thirds of their group but he was glad that no one was moping anymore.

--

"I can't believe we're actually listening to this," Morris remarked. "This goes against my dudedom."

Sarah kissed him lightly on the tip of his nose. "Screw your dudedom. I just…wanted something nice."

She wriggled from his grasp and stood to fast-forward to the part of the song she wanted to hear.

"Oh, Sylvia," she giggled as she saw Morris unknowingly mouth the words.

"Yes, Mickey?" she cooed back.

He straightened and grinned from her bed. Oh, _now_ he was getting into it.

"How do you call your loverboy?" he asked, laughing at himself.

"C'mere loverboy!"

He rose and neared her. "And if he doesn't answer?"

"Oh, loverboy…"

He put his arms around her waist. "And if he _still_ doesn't answer?"

The woman in the song continued with it while they kissed. She felt her shirt ease up over her head so easily…then she practically tore his head off removing his. Her bra unhooked easily and fell to the floor. They paused, knowing that they had gotten this far so many times that they half-expected David to storm in again, lamenting about Jack. Or her mother to burst in, calling her succubus to the devil. But no…nothing. Just silence and the last strains of the song fading away. They fell out of the bed, finally with nothing between them. Sarah blushed. This was the first time she had seen him fully naked. They kissed all over, touching and sliding their hands as the CD started over.

"Now I've…had…the time of my life…" the man crooned.

Morris pulled a condom out of his discarded pant's pocket and then all Sarah had to do was lie back, arch her back a little and wait for it to happen.

_Finally!_

Afterwards, they lay curled on the bed, wrapped in each other's arms.

"It's about fucking time," he breathed into her ear.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Love you too."


	28. Conjuring Desi Arnaz

David was miserable. He was sitting in some crap bar with his friends and feeling utterly shitty. The things he had said to Jack…what was _wrong _with him? But it was in the past now…last week. Big past. Christmas—or _winter_ for those PC folks—break was upon them in matter of days and midterms. He hadn't seen Jack for that entire week. He felt like shit about it.

"Cheer up," Snitch advised. "I'm sure he…I got nothing."

David glared at him, none too touched by his words. Blink took a sip from his gin fizz—God knows how he got it but, with that smile and that face, it wasn't a hard guess as to why—and went to say something. However, a guitar tune came over the sound system and he stopped.

"Skits!" he screamed, seizing his friend by the arm. "It's our song!"

Skittery turned and grinned widely. It was the first time David had seen him do that.

"Oh, God," Snitch rolled his eyes. "Here it comes."

"Here what comes?" David asked.

Snitch just smiled in a way that said 'you'll see.'

"I remember every little thing as if it happened only yesterday!" Blink sang, his large mouth making it so everyone around could hear him. "Parking by the lake and there was not another car in sight. And I never had a girl, lookin' any better than you did…and all the kids at school, they were wishin' they were me that night!"

David blinked his eyes, the Jack drama temporarily forgotten and replaced by the urge to pretend that he didn't know both of the boys sitting next to him.

"And now our bodies are close and oh so tight," Blink tapped out the rhythm with his glass. "It never felt so good, it never felt so right…"

Blink sang something about metal and knives as Snitch turned to David.

"This is their song," he explained. "They performed it for the school talent show in fourth grade."

"Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night!" they sang together. "I can see paradise by the dashboard light!"

"How long is it?" David asked.

"Eight minutes," Snitch stated. "The best way to deal with it is to get drunk. Very drunk."

"Ain't no doubt about it we were doubly blessed," Skittery sang. "'Cause we were barely seventeen and we were barely dressed."

"Bartender!" David and Snitch called in unison.

--

"Wake up," Sarah bounced up and down on the bed. "Come on, wake up."

She bounced a bit more, jarring Morris's dark head with each jump. He yawned, trying to keep his head in one place. Why was it that sex made her so _hyper_ and him so _sleepy_? Feeling bored with her bouncing, he stuck his arm out and wrapped it around her waist, pulling her down so that they were nearly on top of each other. They had been going out for a couple months, as she didn't fail to point out, and for a guy who was used to getting into a chick's pants within twenty minutes of meeting her, that was a long wait for sex. But now that they had—finally—done it, they couldn't _stop_ doing it.

"Let me go," she complained. "Come on. I thought you were sleeping."

"I was," he said, pinning her beneath him. "And you woke me up."

"Well," Sarah wriggled back and forth. "I'm bored."

He raised his eyebrows. "You are?"

"I am," she ceased and kissed him directly on the lips.

They knew what was going to happen because it had _just_ happened. And it was inevitable since they were now officially a sexually active couple.

"Wait," Sarah came up for air. "Condom."

He leaned down and rifled through his wallet.

"Shit," he pulled himself up. "I'm out."

Sarah bit her lip and drummed her fingers idly on his back.

"I'm on the pill," she offered.

"Good enough."

--

Blink shivered and sipped his coffee. He'd read somewhere that in some conditions, hot liquid froze sooner than cold liquid. He hoped his coffee could survive the December morning.

"Fuck, Snitch," he complained. "For a guy with a killer hangover, you sure know how to be up and at 'em on a Saturday morning."

His reply was the finger. It was the morning before Mush's planned séance and Blink preferred to spend most of the day in bed, not worrying about contacting the dead. No, instead, Snitch had shown up at his apartment with a pair of binoculars and a huge smile on his face.

"I don't know why we're doing this," Blink continued. "I'm pretty sure Itey's not a psychopathic serial killer so why should we watch him? If we're going to make sure anyone's fine, we should watch Oscar. You know, see if he goes insane on anyone's ass or if he bites the heads off of chickens. That kind of thing."

"Shut your hole, Bennetson," Snitch shot back. "And get down."

Blink took another sip of his coffee and slunk down behind the mailbox. They were across the street from Itey's apartment building and spying on him. The boy was a super genius, fifteen and probably had a blemish free track record. Snitch was just a paranoid idiot. Perhaps he had been sneaking Skittery's meds and the drugs had an adverse effect on him. Speaking of which…

"Where's Skits?"

"He told me, and I quote, to fuck off before he used his foot as a colonic," He wrinkled his nose. "DeLancey's a bad influence on him."

Blink nodded his agreement and drained the last of his coffee. At least Skittery was smart enough—or mean enough—to tell Snitch no. He was the nice-nic who got stuck freezing his ass off on a Saturday morning.

"Here he comes," Snitch pressed the binoculars to his face and handed something black to Blink.

"What's this?"

He pulled one end and a long lens came out. It was a telescope. One of those cheap, black ones that you could get at the dollar store.

"I figured you'd suck with binoculars so I brought you a telescope."

Blink whacked him in the back of the head. "I fucking hate you, Snitch."

--

"He did not say it," Race shook his head. "He didn't say it Jack. A week of not eating has made you hallucinate. David would not say that to you. He worships you."

Jack shook his head. "He told me to fuck off."

Spot was shaking his head. Partly at Jack and partly at himself. Two weeks ago, he would've been partying at the fact that Jack was single and on the rebound. Now…he found himself not caring. When he looked into Jack's eyes, all he saw was brown. When he looked into Race's, it was so much more. All of that cheesy, clichéd, shitty stuff like them speaking to him in words he wanted to hear. And he felt less likely to bop David on the head for making Jack become obsessed again. Hmmm…maybe babysitting Cujo and Damien was soothing him and making him less angry. Right, and he was Mary Queen of Scots.

"Well, Jack," Race said. "We'll make sure you two get back together."

"Or try the just friends approach," Spot offered. "Friends then fuck-buddies and then wuv twu wuv."

He received dual looks of shock or as much shock as Jack could muster from his angst.

"What?"

--

"I hate this," Snitch yawned. "I could be home watching _Sabretooth_ on Sci-Fi."

"And I could be home making fun of _Sabretooth_ on Sci-fi," Skittery shot back. "But we're all here to make contact with the dead. So let's do this."

He turned around to see the enormous orange pentacle that Mush had painted on the back of his door.

"Oh, shit," he muttered. "This is going to suck."

Blink sent him a silencing look as Mush drew in.

"Okay," he beamed. "Who do you guys wanna contact?"

David pretended to be preoccupied with a stray thread on his trusty baseball t-shirt. Snitch bit his lower lip and Skittery rolled his eyes.

"Anyone?" Blink squeezed his boyfriend's hand. "I mean, we wanna make sure we can do it before we pinpoint someone."

Mush nodded and smiled. "Okay, everyone link hands and put them towards the candle."

They did as they were told and, on impulse, shut their eyes. Mush started chanting in low Spanish to contact the spirit realm or something. Snitch only knew fractured Spanish—he took French, _not_ Spanish—but he figured that _espiritu_ meant spirit. Snitch peeked an eye open.

"Why are you speaking in Spanish?" he asked. "Are we trying to summon the spirit of Desi Arnaz?"

Blink kicked him from underneath the table.

"What was that for?" he asked.

Blink popped his right eye open. "What was _what_ for?"

"You kicked me."

"I did not!"

"Do too!"

"Did not!"

"Guys!" David shouted, the first word he had spoken all night. "Let's just do this, alright?"

This time, no one closed their eyes as Mush started trying to contact the spirits again. Snitch felt this strange calm come over him. He felt suddenly really sleepy. He felt his head loll back on the chair. The incense Mush had lit into the room was really cloying and making feel so sleepy. He closed his eyes.

"Snitch!" the next thing he knew, someone was shaking him.

He felt like he was coming out of a fog.

"Wha?" he asked, yawning. "What happened? Did we contact the dead?"

Skittery and David exchanged a look.

"What?"

"Snitch…you're telling us that you don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

Blink shook his head and Snitch noticed that Mush was staring at him as if he had sprouted a second head that could speak perfect Greek.

"He's bullshitting," the blonde stated. "Snitch, we were trying to contact the dead. Besides, you never told us you could throw your voice."

"I can't."

"Right."

Snitch crossed his arms over Freddy Krueger on his t-shirt.

"Tell me what happened," he commanded.

Mush bit his lip and was still staring at him and his supposed second head.

"What?" he demanded.

"Snitch…" Mush smiled a little. "You got _possessed_!"

--

Monday morning, David emerged from his first period exam and started to head to the bathroom for a quick break before his fourth period exam.

"David, wait," Jack emerged from the classroom. "Can we talk?"

He paused, still hating how his voice sent shivers down his back. "Yeah…we can."

Jack came around so he was facing him. He put his hands on his upper arms. David was afraid he would kiss him. Afraid that all the longing and heartbreak would reopen and send his mind spiraling out the window. And he wanted to hold strong. To make Jack see and finally say 'God bless you'.

"Let's be friends," he suggested. "You and me, Dave. No more of this sex stuff and no, I won't fuck myself. We'll be friends."

David found himself nodding numbly. "Yeah…friends."


	29. JFK Blown Away and Hallway Make Outs

"So Dave, how was Chanukah?" Jack asked the first thing Monday when they got back from winter break.

David was starting to get used to this just friends thing with Jack. He was a pain sometimes and, yes, his stomach still knotted and twisted when he was around but it kind of worked.

"Eight days of practical gifts," David shrugged. "Same 'ol, same 'ol. How was your Christmas?"

Jack screwed his face up for a moment before it righted to its eternal perfection.

"Shitty," he stated as they walked down the hall to Denton's class. "I couldn't take a bite of dinner without Erin clicking her tongue at me. And then she asked me if I was binging and purging. And then it was back to talking about the wedding because that's all anyone talks about anymore."

Jack vented for a little while long, looking genuinely pissed off. But he didn't just look pissed off. He looked much better. For one, he was back to his denim jacket and bandana—David hated that sweatshirt jacket—and his nose ring was no longer infected. In other words, Jack was perfection on a stick.

"That's a shame," David deadpanned.

Jack draped an arm around his shoulders. "Your compassion floors me, Davey."

--

Snitch and Skittery exchanged a look of disgust. They had been changed to American History at the change of the semester. This did not amuse either of them. Snitch had liked his second period as had Skittery. Now they were stuck with a grizzled old teacher who sounded a lot like Bill Clinton.

"I did not have sexual relations with that woman," Snitch whispered to his friend.

Skittery giggled and swatted him. Mr. Landis glared at them and they shut up but quick.

"Now," he continued. "We're going to skip all that boring jazz and go right to the meat. We're studying one of the most controversial presidents. And I don't' mean Nixon, folks. I'm talking about JFK."

"Blown away!" Skittery blurted out before smacking a hand over his mouth.

Then Snitch—and about three other people—chimed in to make him happy.

"What else do I have to say?" they chorused.

Mr. Landis put his face in his hands and shook his head as the entire class broke into 'We Didn't Start the Fire'.

"You know," Snitch remarked. "I love how the entire class—almost—knows all the words."

Skittery nodded his agreement. "I think I'm going to like history."

--

Jake and Snoddy sat at their usual lunch table but things were definitely not usual that day. Jake was staring at Snoddy with a shocked look on his face. He had lost it. That was all there was to it. He had used too much product, inhaled fumes and was stark raving mad. Bonkers. In need of a straightjacket, monkey-fucking, all-work-and-no-play-make-Jack-a-dull-boy insane. Ergo—and Jake only used the word _ergo_ under circumstances like this—he had gone mad.

"You're kidding me, right?" he quirked a brow. "Snoddy, I thought we went over this. I'm straight and I'm not—"

"I don't see the big deal," he huffed. "I trust you and I'm fine with it. Don't consider it a sex thing. Consider it helping out a friend."

Some friend. Snoddy had been acting weird all day. Jake had chalked it up to his parents giving him shit about being gay again. But he was silent on the walk to school which was a might feat for a boy with the pathological inability to shut up. He kept muttering indecipherably under his breath and constantly rubbing his nose. Scratch that—he did that one every day. Then, at lunch, he had sprung him with the news.

"I don't see the big deal," he continued. "I love you. You love me. You're helping me."

"Dude, you should lose your virginity to someone who cares about you in that way. Not your best friend who's _straight_."

"Listen, my first time should be special and with someone I care about. And that's you."

Jake opened his mouth to say how insane Snoddy was and that he needed a good swift, kick to the face when their third and most illusive friend joined them.

"Hey," Ben Lee said coolly, sliding in nimbly next to Snoddy. "Wow, Jake. You look like you got hit by a train."

Thankful for the distraction, Jake lobbed a balled up napkin playfully at his head. With lightning reflexes, he reached up and caught it. They didn't call him Swifty for nothing.

"What happened?" he looked from Jake to Snoddy, a confused expression on his face.

"Snoddy's checking into the mental institution," he glared at him.

"Ah, shall we be visiting him?" Swifty sat cross-legged at the table in a way that Jake knew that his parents hated but he also knew that Swifty loved to make them apoplectic.

Jake shook his head but then an idea struck him. "Hey, Snods. Swifty's gay too. Lose your virginity to him."

Diet coke spewed from his friend's mouth, spraying all over the table.

"_What?_" he gagged. "Are you both on fucking monkey crack?"

Jake frowned at his soggy sandwich. "I'm not. He is."

Snoddy sighed. "Jake, I know you're straight or whatever but I'm ready and I want to do it with someone who cares about me."

"Swifty cares about you."

An icy glare was sent in his direction courtesy of the Asian boy.

"Not like you do."

It may have been the fluorescent lighting in the cafeteria but for a second, Snoddy's effeminate eyes lit up in such a sincere way that Jake actually considered it. Then he realized that the table was only big enough for one loony and decided against it.

"Snods, I'm straight. Not _whatever_, straight."

Swifty bit into his burrito, tilted eyes darting from one to the other. He swallowed the mound of beans and cheese and grabbed his stuff.

"YouknowIthinkI'mgonnaletyouguysdealwiththisorsomething'causeIgottago," then he was gone.

Jake didn't blame him. If he was in his position, he would've left too. Granted, he only understood about half of what he said which, when Swifty talked that fast, was a mighty feat that only attributed to having been his friend since seventh grade—post pencil incident.

"Snods," he started again. "Not to mention, even if I _were_ gay, I wouldn't want to date you because you aren't my type."

The color drained from Snoddy's face and he looked about the cry. Jake knew that he wouldn't. Crying in public was unacceptable past fifth grade. But as Jake kept prodding a hole into his Diet Coke-ruined sandwich, he realized he wasn't finished yet. Not even started.

"I don't know why I put up with this," he ranted. "Why am I friends with you? I get nothing out of this arrangement. And it just seems like you're holding on for the mythical day when I become gay and I just said, I wouldn't fuck you if I were. And now I'm done. Done. Fin. Termino!"

Jake left his tray there and grabbed his corduroy backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. Then he stormed off. He didn't mean half of it but he was sick of Snoddy mooning over him and hanging onto him and having a constant battle of please-be-gay-so-you-can-make-love-to-me that was taking years off of his life. He glanced back at Snoddy. He wished he hadn't. He had the expression that Jake figured someone who had just been told they had a week to live would have.

--

Swifty kept his head down and walked fast. That was how he did the school thing. He excelled on the track team, could power-walk like Quicksilver and…was possibly the only normal one of his friends. Jake was into this closet-case, fear-of-shit so that he had to go out and fuck as many girls as possible to remind himself that he was straight. Snoddy, well Snoddy was just nuts. There was no other way to put it. That wasn't to say, of course, that Swifty was normal. His parents were these former punks. They'd go out to see X or the Pixies or some other band and mosh all night. He had seen pictures of his father with a Mohawk and his mother in a torn granny dress. However, now they were into being these wishy-washy artist types that usually forgot that Swifty existed unless he had a track meet or something. They were the hypocritical hippies, however, setting down relentless rules in stone. And Swifty loved breaking those rules. When his mom suggest he turn his picked off scabs into a piece of art, he just threw them away. When they tried to force him to go to the urine-smelling art camp where he made discount wallets for three months for a fourth consecutive time, he ran off. Even little things like sitting with his legs crossed at the table or even just being gay. If it made them aggravated, he did it.

However, he was now going to do the coupe de grace. He was in love and not with 'a nice Asian boy' like his parents advised. No, he was in love with a hot piece of Romanian ass. Nero Rizzio. For the longest time, he had thought he was straight but then he started hanging around with Blink and the new kid and wham-o! Swifty had never been happier. Not that they ever really spoke. He just admired him from afar. Very afar.

"Hey," Jake muttered, stomping past him.

Swifty was quicker. He got in front of him. "What's your damage Jake? You look totally freaked."

"I hate him," was what he said and shoved past him.

Swifty followed him, trying to keep his steps to match Jake's which made him trip a little to be perfectly honest. He grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, crossing his arms.

"What happened after I left?"

Jake shook his head. A crash interrupted them. In unison, they turned to see someone who was possibly Swifty's least favorite person in the world. Of course, how could you _not_ hate someone who jammed a pencil in your ear?

"Hey, it's your buddy," Jake remarked.

Swifty smacked him. But, sure enough, it was in fact Oscar DeLancey who seemed to be beating up Skittery Newcomb. At least that was what it looked like when he shoved him up against the lockers and held on fast to the collar of his Billy Joel t-shirt. Then he did something that the exact opposite of beating him up. He and Skittery started making out. Not wanting to be suddenly spotted and have his eardrum bleed again, Swifty seized Jake's arm.

"That's our cue to exit," he said quickly and darted away, dragging his confused, ski-capped friend with him.

--

Oscar whipped his head around. "Skits, you hear that?"

Skittery rolled his eyes, growing tired with his paranoia.

"No. I didn't. No one was here. And if you're so freaked out about someone seeing us, don't fucking suck my face in the hallways."

Oscar sneered at him. He fielded it with a roll of the eyes. Sometimes he was just an asshole. Then other times, when they lie together—in Skittery's bed of course as to not alert his family to his gaydom—he was just…adorable.

"So you're coming to dinner tonight, right?" he asked. "To meet my father?"

Oscar rolled his own eyes and nodded. "Yeah."

"Then I can finally call you my boyfriend, right?"

He smirked at him and Skittery immediately felt stupid for asking it. He felt that he had been pushing his luck throughout their entire relationship and it had just run out. His scalp prickled at the thought.

"I mean, you don't…" he started.

Then, to his great surprise, Oscar leaned in and kissed him almost tenderly—the almost because _everything_ he did had a bit of violence tacked in—on the lips.

"Yeah," he said when they broke apart. "Then you can finally call me your boyfriend."

And that was how they started "officially" going out.


	30. Shiny Happy People Laughing

"Is he looking?"

"Stop looking!"

"What about the other one? Is _he_ looking?"

Swifty and Jake rolled their eyes at the two white-as-the-day-is-long-yet-pretending-to-be-Japanese girls behind them in Sushi Sushi. Jake pinched one of his rainbow rolls into his mouth and chewed.

"So why are you and Snoddy not friends anymore?" Swifty asked, crossing his legs at the table and poking his spider roll with a chopstick.

"Because I get nothing out of it and he's an ass," Jake answered after swallowing.

To be honest, he still wasn't speaking to Snoddy solely because he wanted to teach him a lesson. When you've been friends with someone for so long, it was hard to stay mad. And, besides, the universe had a way of keeping them friends. They were both born in Louisiana; both went to the Y and to the same school. When Jake's dad got transferred to Manhattan, so did Snoddy's. The universe obviously didn't want Snoddy's want-to-lose-his-virginity to break them up. Jake believed in karma—secretly—and didn't want to get the universe pissed off at him.

"Is he looking?"

"Which one?"

"The Asian one! He's like Gackt!"

A muscle in Swifty's jaw ticked. Jake smirked and ate the white fish off of his rainbow roll. They were going to get it now.

He whirled around.

"Okay, one, don't compare me to some androgynous, ugly-ass, _Japanese_ singer. Two, I'm Chinese. Not Japanese you fucking anime-humping Japanophiles! And third, and the most important, I'm gay. Gay. So fucking stop it!"

They blinked their eyes and glanced at each other.

"What about your friend?" the one with the two buns and Hello Kitty t-shirt asked.

"Don't mind Amy-chan," the other one rolled her heavily made up eyes. "We love gay guys. It's hot to watch them make out."

"_Hai_!" Amy-chan or whatever giggled into her palm.

Heavy-eye-makeup girl was about to say something else when four pieces of crab roll and a dishful of soy sauce mysteriously landed on her head. They both started screaming in high-pitched voices. Jake and Swifty smirked at each other and decided that that was their cue to exit.

--

Skittery stared at himself in the mirror and sucked on his fourth breath mint. He was immensely worried. Mostly, he hoped that Oscar would dress up more than his usual uniform of a wife beater and plaid flannel over shirt. He also hoped that his dad wouldn't make a spectacle, both of himself and of Skittery.

He regarded himself in the mirror. He wore a pink polo shirt and distressed jeans. Kind of prep school but he had a feeling that the sheer amount of Billy Joel t-shirts he owned wouldn't suffice for dinner.

"Mikey!" his father poked his head in his room. "When's your hunky little boyfriend coming?"

Already it began.

"Soon and don't call him that to his face."

His dad just smiled and left, leaving Skittery more paranoid than he was to begin with. Carefully, he popped a Valium into his mouth. He needed to calm down. There was a knock at the door. What the fuck? He took another one. Showtime.

--

Much to his surprise, Oscar didn't show up looking like he robbed Kurt Cobain's corpse. He was wearing a white button-up shirt that made the song 'Old Time Rock'n'Roll' play in Skittery's mind. Although the image of Oscar wearing nothing but tighty-whiteys, Ray Bans, socks and that shirt wasn't half-bad.

"Hey," he greeted him, almost breathless and shoved something into his hand. "Here."

"God," his father opined. "That's frigid. Kiss him or something."

With a terse peck on the cheek, Oscar entered the apartment. Skittery frowned although he didn't know what he had expected. He glanced down into what Oscar had all but shoved into his hand and it was a silver thumb ring. It was a strange gift and he half-wondered if he hadn't just found it on the street on his way over there. Nevertheless, he slipped it on and walked into the kitchen.

"Mikey," his father tapped his foot. "Aren't you doing to introduce me?"

Skittery took a deep breath and wished he had another Valium.

"Oscar, this is my dad. Dad, this is Oscar," he said quickly and took his seat at the table.

His father smiled and tilted his tanned face to the left to show off his "good side" as he often did with people he just met. Looking at them, it was easy to tell they were related although hard to tell that they were father and son rather than brothers.

"So are you in his grade?" his dad asked.

"Uh, yeah," Oscar seemed nervous.

Skittery quirked a brow but kept his mouth shut. Maybe he just didn't like the third degree.

"Dad…could you get the food?" he asked, eyes wide in a pleading fashion.

"Fine, fine."

He got up and Oscar turned to him.

"So that was your elusive dad, eh?"

"No," Skittery snapped. "That's a science experiment that went horribly wrong and I don't like to talk about it."

He wanted Oscar to smirk at him in that way that gave him a hard-on but instead, he just shrugged.

"Whatever."

--

After dinner, they stood on the fire escape, staring down at the cars.

"Your dad's nice," Oscar noted.

Skittery gave him a look. It was 'who the fuck are you and what did you do with Oscar?' kind of look.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "What's up? You've been distracted all night."

He shrugged. This perplexed him further. Oscar was always sure of himself…even when he wasn't right. Scratch that. _Especially_ when he wasn't right.

"I can't do this anymore," he said. "This hiding thing. Today in the hall was too close."

Was he hearing him right or was the Valium making him have aural hallucinations.

"What? But I thought…" he remembered his words in the hallway. "That we were…"

He shrugged again.

"Fine!" he snapped. "Go back to being a closet-case asshole. See if I care! I fucking hate you."

"Shut up," he warned him.

"No! You come out with this, yeah, I'm your boyfriend thing and you give me this fucking thing," he ripped the ring off and threw it over the fire escape. He didn't even wait for the clink before he continued. "And then you come out with this. Go fuck yourself, alright?"

"I said, shut up," his eyes flashed. "I can't do this anymore."

"Well fuck you!" Skittery snapped.

Then he was on his back, on the cold metal. His face stung. He was just backhanded. Slowly, he rose to his feet.

"Skits…"

"No," he said, keeping his voice robotic. "Leave. Get the fuck out of my house. I don't want to fucking see you again."

"Skits."

"Go."

And, for once in his life, Oscar listened to him.

--

**Klepto Orca: **Skits is on SW again.

**ThirdEyeBlink: **I know that. I'm the one who's his best friend.

**Klepto Orca: **Fuck up Blink. I'm worried.

**ThirdEyeBlink: **No shit. I will fucking kill DeLancey

**Klepto Orca: **Not if I do first. Closetcase asshol

**Klepto Orca: **e.

**Klepto Orca: **Fucking enter key

Blink went to respond but paused.

Shiny happy people laughing… 

His cell phone was ringing. He picked it up and recognized the number as Skittery's cell.

"Yellow?" he asked, using the term of greeting they had used on the phone since they were seven.

"Alex?" it was Skittery's father.

"Yeah?"

Mr. Newcomb sounded worried. Did he hear about the break up? But why was he using Skittery's phone? Oh, shit.

"I'm at the hospital," he sounded on the verge of tears. "Michael…he's…he's done it again."

"What?"

"You better get down here."

Blink signed off without saying good-bye to Snitch and hung up on the phone after promising he'd be there as fast as he could. Shit, shit, shit. Skittery had done it again. Mr. Newcomb didn't even have to say what _it_ was. It was obvious. He had tried to kill himself again. Now he was _definitely _going to kill Oscar.


	31. The DeVirgining of Prince Froggerton

"What about this?" Race asked, lifting a little plastic replica off of Spot's dresser. "How long have you had this?"

Spot frowned, not wanting to share any more intimate details of his room with Race except maybe…what color his sheets were under his comforter.

"I got it in a cereal box when I was seven," he mumbled. "Now put it down."

Race dropped the Lucky the Leprechaun figurine and picked something off of the floor. Spot had tried to conceal it under the bed but to no avail.

"And what is _this_?" he waved the little stuffed doll. "A frog in a crown?"

"Put it down," he commanded.

Race flopped onto his bed, ignoring his command and playing with said frog strangely named The Artist Formerly Known as Prince Froggerton. His uncle named him.

"What's its name?"

"Put him down, Race," Spot started coming towards him.

"So it's a he?" he asked, smirking. "What's _his_ name?"

"Prince Froggerton," he muttered, leaving out the 'the artist formerly known as' bit.

"Hail to the prince!" he noticed Spot's icy glare. "Okay, putting his royal highness down now."

He dropped Prince Froggerton to the floor and held his arms out. Spot went over to him and they started making out like a proper couple instead of waxing nostalgic about Spot's toys.

--

"Ha!" Jack cried victoriously. "Five! Park Place! Score! I'm gonna buy it."

David regarded the board. "Okay, a few things. One, I'm the dog. Two, that's the B&O Railroad. Three, I already own the railroad. Four, that's a seven, Jack."

Jack took a bite of the granola bar sitting next to him and wagged his food-filled tongue at him. David cringed in disgust but he was glad to finally see Jack eating. Gross though it may be.

"I always hated Monopoly," he remarked, swallowing. "Too boring. Let's play something less…shitty."

Les jumped up from the couch and ran over to pinch him. "Pinches for swearing!"

Then he scampered away. Jack rubbed his arm.

"Whoever invented that needs to be shot," he deadpanned.

"Jack, it was Les's friend at school."

"So?"

"He's ten."

"And I repeat: so?"

He rolled his eyes but he was definitely getting used to this 'just-friends' thing with Jack. Granted, there was no denying that he still had feelings for him but maybe all they needed was a break. Like Ross and Rachel only less whiney and dramatic. Not that he was going to back down until he knew Jack loved him. He was babyish like that.

"Roll, Jack."

"It's your turn."

"You went for my turn. You moved me to 'Park Place' remember?" he accentuated the 'Park Place' with air quotes.

Jack fake-threw the dice at him. "Shut up, Davey. And I already said I don't want to play anymore. Let's play Clue. Or, better yet, let's _watch_ _Clue_. I think Spot has it."

David rolled his eyes and laughed.

"You're just jealous that I'm winning," he pointed out.

Jack put his top hat back into the box. "Of course I am, hence why I'm quitting. Duh."

He shook his head and helped him clean up.

--

Spot and Race had been making out for some time now. Race knew since he was counting each, hot minute. Spot rolled off of him for a minute and pulled his t-shirt down from where it had ridden up. Race was panting slightly.

"Whoa," he breathed, sounding not unlike Joey Lawrence.

Spot smirked at him. "Hey, Race. Wanna have sex?"

"What?"

Spot was nothing if not blunt.

"Sex. Do. You. Want. To. Have. It?" he asked, cocking a brow.

Race paused. Did he? Yes, he had never had sex with a guy before and yes, Prince Froggerton and his virgin eyes were close by but what the fuck? Carpe diem or whatever.

"Yeah," he said.

And that was that. Immediately, their hands started roaming all over each other. Shirts were shed and pants wriggled out of. To Race, it felt like two lion cubs fighting for dominance. Cubs because of their respective small stature. They were all but wrestling in their underwear. Spot bulged against him and he nearly paused. This was real. This was really, really real.

"W—" Spot's tongue silenced him before he could get out the 'ait.'

And it was all downhill form there.

--

"How're you feeling?" Blink asked after school in the hospital, gripping his bio book reflexively.

"About as good as anyone who just got their stomach pumped could feel," Skittery remarked.

"Do you have to—"

He shook his head. "No. I can't miss anymore school. My dad worked it out. He knows his shit. That it's angst and not psychological problems."

In unison, they both began to pantomime cutting their wrists while singing the tune to some God-awful Simple Plan song that Snitch had deemed 'the anthem for emo kids.'

"How could this happen to me!" they shout-sang before Skittery burst into coughs.

"Sorry," he cringed.

"Don't be."

He paused. "God, I shouldn't have done it. I mean, it wasn't worth it to die because Oscar's a fucking douchebag."

Blink went to answer him when someone else began to talk.

"Well this fucking douchebag came to apologize."

In unison, they turned to see Oscar standing in the doorway, in his usual uniform flannel and wife beater. His cheeks were tinted pink from the cold and his hair was windblown. It looked like he had run to the hospital.

Blink stood up, looking like he was about to deck him.

"Blink," Skittery warned.

"I have to call Mush," he mumbled ineffectually and shuffled from the room, giving Oscar an icy glare as he did.

Skittery crossed his arms over his chest. "Well?"

"Listen, I never apologize, ever," Oscar said. "But what I did was so assholish that I need to get kicked in the nuts and forced to watch _Full House_ and _Saved by the Bell_ on a continuous loop until my ears bleed and I die."

He drew in closer and actually got down on his knees. "I'm sorry, Skits."

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a black and white LP.

"I brought you _The Stranger_," he said. "I know you don't have the LP."

Skittery took it out of sheer appreciation for Billy Joel.

"Thanks," he said.

"It was pretty cheap," Oscar shrugged.

He shook his head. "No. For the apology."

He smiled a little. "So do you forgive me?"

Skittery paused. He was smiling. Not smirking or sneering but actually smiling. He nearly melted.

"Yeah," he said. "But only this once. Seriously. That's like a preemptive two strikes."

The smile turned into a smirk. Too bad.

"Deal."

Then they kissed.

"Oh fucking hell!" Blink had obviously come back.

--

"Stop right now, thank you very much!" Mush sang loudly. "I need somebody with a human touch! Hey you, always on the run, gotta slow it down baby, gotta have some fun!"

He was in the shower, sliding soapy fingers through his soaked hair to lather it up and somehow try and make it less unmanageable. He rinsed out his soaked curls and heard the door open.

"Mush!" Blink called. "Your mom let me in."

Rinsing the last of the shampoo out of his hair, Mush leapt from the shower and into his boyfriend's arms.

"Hey, sweetie," he cried happily. "How are you?"

Realizing he was naked, he whipped his towel off of the rod and wrapped it securely around his waist. Blink frowned down at his now-soaked t-shirt.

"Fine," he stated. "Wet but fine."

Mush nodded and moved the towel so he could towel-dry his hair. He felt only marginally self-conscious as Blink stared at him. He had seen him all sorts of naked so it didn't really matter. He resecured the towel about his waist and got a serious look.

"How's Skits?"

Blink's face darkened. "Physically? Fine. Emotionally? Fine…ish. Mentally? Fucking nutters! Off his goddamn rocker!"

Mush put his arms around Blink and kissed his cheek. "He took him back didn't he?"

He scowled and nodded.

"Well, I know what'll make you feel better!" he exclaimed over the still rushing shower water.

"Mush, I don't want to watch _Unraveling the Mystery of the Goblin Universe_ again."

He smiled slyly. "I had something just as fun in mind but you'll like it."

An easy smile slid on Blink's face. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah, really!"

Blink leaned against the counter. "But you just showered."

Mush giggled and rolled his eyes. "I know that but! If I get all dirty again. We can take a shower together."

Blink reached out and turned off the still running water and they skirted off to Mush's room. Mush smiled. He knew how to make Blink feel better.

--

"Honey, I'm home!" Snitch called as he opened the door.

"Nero, baby!" his mother said from the couch. "Hard day at the office?"

She watched him sink into the plaid depths and shrug.

"So-so," he remarked. "I think Marcus from accounting is stealing petty cash and our photocopier's broken. Bob from the mailroom thought it was a fax machine."

His mother shook her head and ruffled her son's hair. Not to sound like a total mama's boy (which he admittedly-but-only-to-himself was) Snitch loved spending time with his utterly cool, "single working" mother. As if to prove her coolness, she handed him her glass of wine for him to sip.

"What are we watching?" he asked.

"_Invasion of the Neptune Men_," their love for god-awful horror movies—much like Blink and Skittery's mutual love for making fun of god-awful horror movies—was one of many that they shared.

"I saw the MST to that," Snitch pointed out.

"I wanna make my own commentary!" Daly proclaimed, staking his claim on the ottoman.

"Fuck up, shrimpwad!" Snitch gestured with the wine glass.

His mother took it away from him. "No wine for you!"

They laughed. His mother hit play on the VCR but immediately had to pause since Snitch's cell phone began to ring. It was, of course, the _Halloween_ theme.

"_Noite boa_," he greeted.

"English," Blink was aggravated. "What was that, Romanian?"

"Portuguese."

"You aren't Portuguese."

"I could be."

"Fuck up. Listen, Skits took him back."

"…What!" he shouted. "Is he on _crack_?"

"Evidently."

"I tried to cheer him up!" he heard Mush in the bathroom.

"I'm calling him," Snitch shook his head.

"You can't. I tried. Hospital won't allow it but he comes home tomorrow."

"Intervention?"

"Intervention."

Then they hung up. His family was looking at him.

"What?"

"Is that how you say good-bye now?" his mother smiled and hit play again.

--

Race stared up at the ceiling. He had done it. It. Sex. And it was fucking awesome. He and Spot lay panting in each other's arms. At least they had until Spot had fallen asleep. He wiped sweat from his brow and smiled a little. He glanced down at Prince Froggerton all splayed out on the ground.

"Sorry about that, little buddy," he said with a grin.


	32. We All End in the Ocean

"Why'd we pick here for the intervention?" David wrinkled his nose at the menu. "I can't eat anything.

Snitch broke off a piece of cheesy bread and popped it into his mouth. "Because Skittery only likes here and TGI Fridays and no fucking way am I going to TGI Fridays."

David went to press the matter but, for once, kept his mouth shut. If Snitch and Blink thought that eating at Red Lobster for the intervention was a good idea, who was he to disagree? It was, admittedly, a pretty good plan. Probably because Blink came up with it. The upperclassmen field trip to Lake Placid was tomorrow and Blink had come up with this for a good-bye-Manhattan night before they left. The funny thing was, only juniors were going on the trip. The seniors had gone last year and none of the parents wanted to pay again. Or, in David's case, their parents couldn't afford two field trip checks.

Regardless, good plan or not, David still couldn't eat anything off of the menu. He even feared that the cheesy bread had more than its fair share of lobster in it. So he just contented himself in taking another pull from his Diet Coke.

"Hey, Dave," Blink piped up. "There's a chicken section."

He shook his head. "Red Lobster chicken is just shrimp in disguise."

They laughed as Skittery finally joined them.

"What's so funny?"

"David's paranoia that everything here has shellfish in it," Snitch said easily.

Blink and David nodded their agreement.

"So," the perky waiter came back. "Are you guys ready to order now?"

"I just go—"

"He'll have the lobster pizza appetizer," Snitch filled in. "And I'll have oysters on the half-shell."

Skittery gave him an angry look but, having not glanced at the menu, didn't say anything.

"I'll have the fiesta lobster rolls," Blink said.

"And I'll have the chicken fingers," David said grumpily. "Ranch instead of honey mustard."

Perky Perkerson widened his mega-watt smile and made David question the need for sunglasses in the dimly lit restaurant. "Only appetizers?"

"For our dinners," Snitch spoke slowly and enunciated every word as if the waiter were slow.

Perky didn't catch this and flitted away.

"So, Lake Placid," Skittery bit into a piece of cheesy bread. "I can't wait. Sure, it'll be like way colder there but still…it's worth not having a Valentine's Dance. I bet the lake's pretty in March."

He chewed thoughtfully and smiled a little. Blink, Snitch and David exchanged a look. This was very un-Skittery. He _should_ still be pissed at Oscar but no, he was being strangely chick-like and waxing romantic about the trip. It was showtime.

"Skittery," Blink set his Sprite down. "This is an intervention."

He dropped the cheesy bread. "A what?"

"An intervention," Snitch said, rolling his eyes. "You're in an abusive relationship."

Skittery laughed. "You guys are shitting me right?"

"'Fraid not," Snitch said. "We're worried about you. If Oscar hit you once then he'll hit you again. Violence is pathological. Plus, he has a history of violence…and I don't mean that really bad Viggo Mortenson movie."

Skittery frowned and leaned back in the booth, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"They don't call him the Psycho from Sicily for nothing," Blink added. "Plus, this whole hiding thing must be killing you."

"David, do you feel this way too?" he asked, glaring at him.

David gulped down at least half of his Diet Coke out of sheer nervousness.

"Um, I have to wee," he had meant to say 'pee' but it came out like he was British.

He jumped up from the booth and ran towards the door marked 'He-Shells'.

Meanwhile, Skittery was _not_ amused.

"He's changing," he insisted. "And I don't have to take this. See you guys tomorrow."

With that, he stood up and marched out of Red Lobster.

"Wow," Snitch remarked. "We really suck at this. Imagine if he was on drugs. He'd be dead now with our shitty intervention skills."

Blink gave him a filthy look.

"What?"

"Shut up, Snitch."

--

Racetrack knew that what he was doing as stupid. He shouldn't be at True West the night before he had to wake up at four in the morning. But still, it was fun being around all of the upper class, private school kids and mentally laughing at them. The only thing that could've made it better was Spot being there.

Race made his way to the bar and sat next to a kid who could've been his age. He had brilliant green eyes and bore a passing resemblance to the late River Phoenix circa _Stand By Me_.

"Hi," he said to him.

"Hi," the boy's voice was like a purr.

"I'm Tony," he forced a smile, feeling more than a bit unnerved by him.

"Eli," he said sweetly. "Eli Manic."

Race highly doubted that 'Manic' was the name on his birth certificate.

"You go by Racetrack, don't you?" he raised his dark blonde eyebrows.

"Yeah," he said, almost gruffly. "How'd you know?"

Eli grinned a cat-caught-the-canary grin.

"I have my ways," he purred again.

Eli scooted closer and Race realized that the boy was flirting with him. He was going to mention that he had a boyfriend but Eli silenced him by kissing him on the lips. As wrong as he felt, Race couldn't help but feel his heart accelerate with the riskiness of this situation. It was a whole lot different from kissing Spot. Not better, not worse but different.

He kind of liked it, perverse though it may be.

--

"I'm gonna do it," Swifty told Jake as they got on the bus for Lake Placid.

"Do what?" Jake, who wasn't used to getting up before one on a Saturday, wasn't quite firing on all cylinders.

Swifty glared, having not yet had his morning coffee. "Tell Snitch how I feel."

"Oh."

"Besides, I—"

He was cut off as he crashed into Itey who had been staring at Swifty in wordless admiration for the past few minutes.

"Sorry," he said quickly.

"It's okay," Itey smiled widely.

"Hey Itey!" Snitch bounded happily onto the bus followed by his usual posse of David, Blink and Skittery. Skittery looked strangely pissed at them.

Itey smiled politely at him, not saying anything and went to where Swifty, Jake and Snoddy were. Snoddy was already on the bus and had staked a claim on the window seat. He was currently mashed up against it, sleeping. Jake slid in next to him and Swifty got in across the way.

"Can I sit with you?" Itey asked, smiling again.

"Oh, sure."

He slid in and kept smiling at him. Swifty smiled in return but inched back ever so discreetly from him. He watched Snitch go by, complaining that it wasn't fair that he had to sit by himself because Blink was sitting with Mush, Skittery was with Oscar and Jack had proclaimed that David sit with him. Swifty didn't want to be rude to Itey but part of him really wanted to kick him out of the seat so Snitch could sit with him.

"I'll sit with ya, Snitchy!" Dutchy jumped onto the bus with so much vigor that there was no way in hell that he was sober.

Bumlets and Pie Eater got on behind him, rolling their eyes but laughing. If Swifty cared, he would've gone into mental detail about the difference in the dichotomy of their little group. But he really didn't care. All he cared about was that Jake had once told him that Snitch had liked Dutchy so things could only get worse. Terrific.

--

"Race, what's wrong?" Jack asked, sitting by David and ruffling his curls. "You've been jumpy all morning."

He shrugged and sat next to Spot but his mind was racing. He hadn't just done kiss cheating that night but actual cheating. Cheating, cheating. He and Spot had only been going out for, like, a month an a half. He was such an asshole. But when Eli kissed him, he kissed him back and then somehow ended up at his apartment, doing him in an assortment of positions. Like the kissing, it was different. Unlike the kissing, he found himself pining for Spot afterwards. Maybe he could just keep it on the down low so Spot never knew. Eli went to St. Jude's anyway. Far, far away from Pulitzer High.

"Just tired," he lied.

Spot put an arm around him.

"Poor baby," he deadpanned, smirking.

He didn't deserve Spot's sympathy, mocking though it may be. But he was afraid that if he admitted to Spot that he cheated on him, he'd be killed and his body would turn up weeks later in Lake Placid with the cause of death being strangled by a _Young Frankenstein_ t-shirt.

"Here," Spot tossed him his jacket. "The bus is too hot for it. Use it as a pillow."

From Spot, that was an act erring on Mother Teresa-dom. Race balled it up and leaned against the window, feeling like shit.

--

"I can't wait," Mush chirped, unnaturally chipper for it being six in the morning. "I brought, like, seven cameras and I'm going to find a Lake Placid monster! Or Bigfoot's cousin running around the woods. Then I'll be famous. And I'll get a house in Beverly Hills where Blink and I can live and…"

Snitch thwapped him. "Silence."

Blink glared. "Let him talk. It's better than hearing run off from your CD player."

"No it's not," Skittery put in. "But if I didn't like the song, I'd shoot him."

Oscar kissed his cheek and put an approving arm around him. Blink rolled his eyes.

Snitch nodded before breaking into song. "In the middle of the night, I go walkin' in my sleep. Through the—"

Dutchy flicked him in the ear before going back to staring out the window.

"You know," Snitch hit pause on his player. "David's been uncharacteristically quiet this whole trip so far."

"Maybe he's sleeping," Mush offered.

Everyone—save for Oscar and Dutchy—swiveled around to look at the back where David and Jack were sitting, to see if he was actually asleep.

"Hey," Mush furrowed his brow. "Aren't they broken up?"

Apparently not. David wasn't sleeping, nor was Jack. They weren't even talking. It actually appeared like neither had had a decent meal in forever and decided to instead eat each other. Jack's hand was on the small of David's back and David's hands were tangled in Jack's hair as they furiously made out. Lake Placid was going to be interesting.


	33. When You Call My Name

"It's so cute that you guys are back together," Snitch remarked, tossing his stuff onto the mattress of his bunk.

David gave him a weird look. "What?"

"You, Jack and your tongue-heavy reunion on the bus."

He blinked his eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Jack and I are broken up. We're just friends."

Snitch started to laugh but paused when he realized that David was serious.

"You mean you don't remember?"

His look said 'duh'.

"Well, you and Jack made out on the bus here. Jesus, how sleep deprived _were_ you?"

David sat on his own bunk and moaned, putting his head in his hands.

"Oh, shit," he moaned. "And Jack's in this cabin."

When they had arrived at the campgrounds, Mr. Denton had told them to get into a group of four to be joined by another group of four. Their cabin housed Jack, Spot, Race, Mush and then him, Snitch, Skittery and Blink.

"Hey, maybe he was tired too," Snitch offered. "Although I don't see how you don't remember it."

Before David could lift his hands to say something, Jack burst in with Spot and Race.

"Hey, guys," he said airily.

Evidently, Jack didn't remember their apparent make out either.

"Hey," David and Snitch said together.

"So," Race said, smirking and looking from Jack to David. "The bus trip was long huh? I barely made it. How'd you two make out?"

"What?" David squeaked.

Jack cocked a brow. "What?"

Race dissolved into laughter but his voice caught and sounded nervous. He kept skirting glances at Spot. He finished his laughter by clearing his throat and sitting on his bed.

"Jeez, Race," Spot remarked. "You've been acting weird all day."

"Weird? I'm not acting weird," he squeaked.

Spot rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

--

Lights out was ten and that was the fun began.

"I dare ya," Snitch held out an Oreo sandwiched between two Pringles.

Jack swiped it from his hand and handed it to Spot. "Eat it."

Spot glared at him but took the concoction. After that, everyone—save for Jack who claimed to be full from the fish tacos at dinner that no one saw him ate—ate their own disgusting mix of junk food.

Then they got into bed and started talking about the best scenes from movies.

"_The Princess Bride_," Mush said. "My name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father. Prepare to die."

Spot shook his head. "I'm gonna say _Young Frankenstein_. The 'Putting on the Ritz' scene."

"_Heathers_," Skittery offered. "Kurt and Ram's funeral."

"I LOVE MY DEAD GAY SON!" Blink yelled.

"_Orca_. When Bo Derek's leg gets ripped off."

The one elicited groans from everyone.

"_Army of Darkness_," Blink said, sounding excited. "This is my _boom stick_."

"_Singles_," David said softly. "Janet and Cliff in the elevator."

No one else having seen that movie, they just agreed. Race, however, didn't say anything. Everyone just assumed that he had fallen asleep.

"Shit," Jack said. "I'm tired."

And that was that. Everyone went to sleep.

--

Skittery rolled onto his side, burrowing more deeply into the covers. God, he was freezing. It was barely sunrise and the air was frigid. He shouldn't even have been awake. There was a good three hours before the breakfast chime and then the horrible, mind-imploding nature walk.

What had woken him up was the steady rapping on the window. Grumbling, he rose and stuffed his socked feet into his sneakers before pulling his jacket on. He knew who it was rapping at his window and was going to let them have it.

"Listen, Oscar," he started, pushing through the cabin door.

Sure enough, his boyfriend was leaning against the outer wall of the cabin, smirking.

"You own a flannel coat," he smiled. "Why am I not surprised?"

Oscar eased himself off of the wall and put his arms around him.

"I don't know," he said mostly into his neck. "But—"

The door to the cabin flew open and Mush came powering out. Skittery marveled at two things: how he could be so energetic at such an early hour and how he could stand wearing shorts in winter.

"Come on, Blink!" he cheered, holding his camera in the air.

Blink came out, grumbling, pulling his knit cap over his hair. He saw Skittery and Oscar and glared.

"Coming Mush," he spat, following his boyfriend into the woods.

"Blink," Skittery moaned. "Fuck it. I have to follow him."

Oscar followed him, not wanting to go back to his cabin that he unfortunately shared with Swifty who still harbored hatred towards him for jamming a pencil in his ear.

"Hey," Snitch stumbled out. "Who woke me up?"

"Mush," David said, coming out with him.

To the collective's surprise, Jack, Spot and Race all trudged out.

"Why are you guys here?" David asked.

"Because everyone else is," Spot flashed a smile.

--

Race sighed. He was hating this. He didn't want to troop through the forest at such an early hour. Not like he could say anything. Every time he opened his mouth, he feared the words 'I cheated on you' would come out. He would just forget that it ever happened. And he'd be happy with Spot. Easy as that. He'd be normal.

"Race, what's your damage?" Jack asked.

He shrugged. "Tired."

He shook his head. "Man, you need more sleep."

--

David finally decided to confront Jack when everyone was stopping and Mush was looking around for potential footprints.

"Jack," he tried. "Do you remember what happened on the bus?"

To his surprise, he smiled. "Of course I do, Davey. Why wouldn't I?"

The color drained from his face. Oh, great.

"Jack, I mean, we, uh, our thing is, uh, still one," he managed. "Our friends thing. I'm not ready for us to be—"

Jack nodded. "Yeah, I get it. You don't want to be us again. Whatever."

He paused. Jack was being surprisingly lenient.

"So we're good?" he asked.

He smirked. "Yeah, we're good."

David let out a sigh of relief and headed back towards the others. Jack leaned against the trunk of a tree and shook his head.

"Only a matter of time," he said happily.

--

David swiped at a clump of mud that had settled on his cheek and sighed.

"We've been wandering around for hours," Skittery complained. "And I've yet to see any sign of the campgrounds. Or Bigfoot."

Oscar slumped angrily against a tree. "Great, we're miles away from civilization and my boyfriend is starting to believe mush-head's babblings."

Mush pouted. "Hey, they aren't babblings! They're facts!"

Oscar shoved himself off of the tree and got into his face. "They aren't facts and it's your fucking fault we're all out here in the _first_ place!"

"Lay off!" Blink snapped.

"Fuck off, Bennetson," he shot back.

"Oscar," Skittery said in a warning tone.

"Sorry," he said and went back to slumping.

David was surprised. In the entire time he had known Oscar, he never said sorry. Ever. But Skittery seemed to be getting him to say the magic word even if he didn't really mean it.

"Jesus," Jack kicked a tree. "We're fucking lost."

David didn't bother with the warning tone thing about language. It didn't matter anymore because they were broken up and ex-boyfriends don't use warning tones on each other.

"Well," Snitch piped up. "What can we do?"

"Yell?" Race suggested sarcastically.

"Pray?" David straightened. "I mean, I haven't exactly done it out of synagogue for…ever but it couldn't hurt."

"Like that helps," Blink snapped. "I've been praying for a tiger cub for the past fifteen years and have I gotten one? No."

David sighed. "But guys…wait…tiger cub?"

He shook his head. "Whatever. I'll start. God…I haven't done this in a while. Jack?"

Jack stopped rubbing his foot that he must've hurt by kicking the tree and cleared his throat.

"Life is a mystery…" he started to sing.

"Jack, no," David groaned.

"Everyone must stand alone…" he ignored him and kept singing.

"Jack, no."

"I hear you call my name…"

"Jack, no. You're so going to hell."

"And it feels like…home…"

David smacked his hand to his forehead and groaned again. He uttered a third groan when he heard the others join in.

"When you call my name," Mush sang loudly. "It's like a little prayer!"

"I'm down on my knees," Blink dropped to his knees. "I want to take you there!"

To add insult to injury, just about everyone started jumping up and down and dancing in the forest like some screwed up moshers. As far as David could see, the only other one with their sanity intact was Oscar. And that wasn't saying much.

"In the midnight hour, I can feel your power!" Spot and Race sang together.

"Just like a prayer, you know I'll take you there!" everyone sang together.

"Why me?" David bemoaned.

--

"LAND!" Snitch proclaimed happily. "CIVILIZATION!"

Mush followed him, head lowered and shoulders slumped. Everyone else jumped out, screaming and happy. They had only been gone for three and a half hours but it felt like days.

"Phew," Spot said. "Glad that was over. Were we actually singing Madonna?"

Everyone laughed, even Oscar.

"Let's make like bees and fuck off," he said. "I wanna go home."

--

Spot knew that he shouldn't be out so late on the first day back from the Lake Placid trip—which had to be cut short due to their "mysterious" disappearance—but he had heard Race mumble something about True West uptown and wanted to see him. It was kind of too stalkerish but Race was his boyfriend goddamnit and he wanted to spend time with him.

He saw him over to the side with a gorgeous boy with dirty blonde hair. They were drinking. The hair on the back of Spot's neck rose. Something was going down. The other boy handed a glass of something that looked like red Kool-Aid to Race. He drank from it. The boy took the glass back and replaced it with his lips.

His throat went dry and anger made his body rigid. His heart pounded so hard in his chest that he wondered if it was visible through his t-shirt. Blonde boy kissed down Race's t-shirt and looked to be…he was. He was teasing his nipples through his shirt. Spot felt tears press against his eyes.

Oh, fuck no. No way was he going to fucking cry. What he did do was turn around and leave.

The enormity of what he had just seen didn't hit him until after he was on the street and heading for the Subway station. Patrick Theodore Conlon had just been cheated on and Anthony Giuseppe Higgins was going to fucking pay for it.


	34. Coattails, Beemers and Social Functions

Spot's revenge was more low-key than originally planned. When he had seen Race in the bar with that manslut, River Phoenix-alike, he had stomped home and went to bed. In the morning, he realized that he didn't need to viciously murder him but instead he opted for the good standby.

Meaning, he refused to return his calls and ignored him at school. Primitive but effective. Race seemed to get the message that he fucked up.

Unfortunately, now that he had nothing to do after schools, he picked up more hours and pay by watching Cujo and Damien. Granted, Corbin and Hester weren't bad kids per say but they had a shitload of energy. And they especially seemed to like to use it on him in dual vain attempts to get him to play with them.

"Patrick?" Eva, their mother, emerged from her room in a ridiculous gold dress that made her look like an Oscar in drag. "May I speak with you for a minute?"

_Gladly_.

"Sure," he said and put down the book he had been half-heartedly reading for school.

Eva smiled and put a cool hand on the side of his face.

"There's a function tonight and I thought it'd be a nice way to say thank you for taking such good care of Hester and Corbin. Gracious, they absolutely love you. All they talk about is 'Patrick, Patrick, Patrick'. The only person they talk more about is someone named Spot which I assume is your dog?"

"Sure," Spot said.

"Anyway, Corbin even mentioned wanting a tongue ring!" for some reason, Eva seemed unearthly pleased. "So where was I? Oh, yes. I'd like you to come to the function tonight. It's a charitable event, oh dear, I'll just drive you there."

Eva started away back into her room before turning around.

"Oh, and it's not part of your job," she smiled, revealing thousands of dollars worth of laser-brightened perfection. "Just a thank you."

Finally, Spot managed to find his voice. "I have nothing to wear."

Eva flashed him another smile before reaching around her door. With the flourish of a magician, she pulled out a fancy suit.

"It's Hugo Boss," she said that as if it should mean anything to Spot. "Consider it a gift."

Spot took it and blinked his eyes. An adult was being nice to him? Seriously? Man, Fifth Avenue was sure as hell different from Brooklyn.

--

Snitch wanted a cigarette. He wanted a cigarette and he didn't even smoke. He was working in some stupid restaurant, plastering a smile on his face and being polite to hoity-toity-well-I've-never-my-word people and serve them food that he could never afford himself. That, in itself, wasn't that bad. The trouble was that his uniform necessitated black shoes. The only all black shoes Snitch owned were a pair of Doc Martins with steel toes. Stylish? Yes. Cool looking? Yes. However, they were not conducive to darting around every which way.

Needless to say, Nero Daniel Rizzio was not a happy camper. This was proven when Ben Lee a.k.a. Swifty strolled in like he owned the place which, in all fairness, he kind of did. Snitch had never had a full conversation with Swifty but he disliked him out of sheer principle. He was a rich boy slumming it in a public school when he could go to St. Jude's or one of those other single-sex private schools with the other richoids of the Upper East Side. Granted, he knew that he should feel some sympathy towards him since a pencil _was_ shoved into his ear courtesy of Oscar but it was a paltry amount. As far as he was concerned, Swifty was a spoiled little rich boy and that was that.

Wait…what was he doing in a uniform?

"Hello, Snitch," he greeted him. "Nice lips. Have you been filching maraschinos? And I thought that your kleptomaniacal days were behind you."

Snitch rubbed the back of his hand furiously over his lips in a vain attempt to make them look less red. Stupid Swifty. Not only did he mention the rosiness of his lips but he reminded him of the kleptomaniacal streak that blemished his grammar and middle school years and earned him his nickname back in third grade. Although personally, he preferred Snitch to Nero any day.

"Hello, _Ben_," he smiled brightly. "Why are you here?"

Swifty smiled dubiously. "I work here. I got my schedule changed to work weekends."

"And how could you just do that?"

"My dad owns the place."

"Of course he does," Snitch paused. "You know, you don't have to toil here with the unwashed masses, feeding pâté to undeserving socialites."

The woman at the linen-swathed table behind him gave him a filthy look. Snitch ignored it.

"I didn't want to go to the function tonight," he explained as if Snitch should know what the 'function' was. "Plus, I'm an industrious boy. I can't ride on my parents' coattails—or in their Beemer—any longer."

Snitch smirked. He knew that he had a table waiting for him but this was more enjoyable. Man, he was a shitty waiter.

"Ah, so you accomplish this by working in your father's restaurant?" he smirked again. "Oh, and didn't your parents fight to ban the bomb and end apartheid and—"

"Basically make the world a better place for me, yes," Swifty said. "However, they are hypocritical hippies and I've learned to live with it."

Snitch nodded like he cared. "Well, I have a table to get to. See you later."

"Definitely."

Then he flounced away. He didn't like Swifty even more. And it _so_ had nothing to do with the fact that Itey had sat with him on the bus to Lake Placid.

--

"Cough on me."

"No."

"Come on!"

"No."

"Bummers—"

"No."

Dutchy frowned and crossed his arms. "Come Bummers, I wanna be sick. I'm not ready for school tomorrow."

Bumlets gave him a sorry-for-your-problem-but-I-don't-care look. He had caught a nasty cold in Lake Placid and Dutchy had been badgering him ever since to cough on him and make him sick as well. He wasn't even supposed to be over at Dutchy's because his overdramatic mother said that he needed to be put under quarantine but his father allowed him a reprieve.

"Dutchy, really," Pie rolled his eyes. "I think that—"

The door to Dutchy's room popped open followed by his mother sniffing the air for pot. Apparently now that Dutchy was off the straight and narrow, she assumed that Pie and Bumlets were as well.

"Mom, what is it?" he asked boredly.

She looked at him with identical blue eyes. "Jansen—"

"Perry."

"_Perry_. Someone's here to see you."

Bumlets half-expected Mrs. Palanski to bring in a burly rehab guard named Lars but instead, someone much thinner came in. Someone with dark brown hair and brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.

"_A Dios mio_," Bumlets muttered.

"Specs!" Dutchy catapulted into the arms of his best friend for a hug. "I missed ya, man!"

--

It was a horrible party. As far as parties went, it wasn't that bad. The food was really good and they were playing this awesome big band music but Spot didn't know anyone there and everyone knew everyone and kept looking at him like they found him on the bottom of their shoe.

"Oh! Melanie!" Eva jumped to her feet and air-kissed a woman on both cheeks.

This woman was a less gaudy version of Eva with copper-highlighted hair and a floor-length, black strapless gown. With her was a man in a crisp tuxedo and a boy with wire-rimmed glasses and a long nose in a charcoal suit.

"Hello, Eva dear," she smiled at her. "Good to see you. How are Hester and Corbin?"

"Oh, fine. How is Gordon?"

The boy in the suit raised his hand. "Gordon's fine."

They chortled over him before Gordon's eyes drifted to Spot.

"Who's this?"

Eva rushed over to him and draped her thin, tan arms around his shoulders. "This is Patrick. He watches Hester and Corbin. He lives in Brooklyn."

She said 'Brooklyn' in a hushed tone as if it were taboo to live there or mention it at all.

"How old are you, Patrick?" Gordon raised his thick eyebrows. "Thirteen?"

"Sixteen," he said defensively. He hated it when people confused him with being younger. Made him very pissed and mixed with his Race-cheating pissed-ness, he was reaching a volatile stage.

"My apologies," Gordon offered him his hand.

Spot begrudgingly took it.

"Gordon goes to Columbia," Eva gushed. "And he's like Patrick…you know…_gay_."

Like 'Brooklyn', she whispered the word 'gay' like it was taboo. He looked at Gordon and they both laughed. A common base. He kind of liked him, even with his weirdly long nose.

"Nice barbell," he remarked.

"Nice nose," Spot shot back.

Gordon smiled and Spot realized that he was actually kind of cute. Now _this_ was the way to get back at Race.

--

Snitch trudged home, dreading the fourteen blocks he'd have to trek to get back to his lame walk-up. Part of him wanted to take his boots off but it was a particularly frigid March and Snitch was fond of his toes.

"Need a lift?"

He turned to see Swifty in a lime green Mustang GT convertible. Nice ass car. Asshole.

"No," he said out of principle.

"Come on," he smiled. "It's warm. And you won't get mugged."

Snitch smirked and faced him, folding his arms across his chest. "In that car? Yeah, I would."

"Get the fuck in, Rizzio."

Weighing his options—which took all of four seconds—Snitch put away his pride and got in the car. He was right, it _was_ warm. Swifty started crawling into traffic.

"So, are you and Dutchy going out?" he asked.

"What? No," he screwed up his face. "I haven't spoken to him since, like, September."

Swifty paused for a group of people scurrying across the street.

"Well I heard you used to have a thing for him."

"Yeah, a long ass time ago," he said. "Besides, I like someone else."

"Who?"

Snitch gave him a dirty look.

"If I told you that, it would reveal an intimate part of my life to you which I am not prepare to share at this present time. Plus, it would mean that I would need to say hello to you in the hallways and I don't think I'm ready for that kind of commitment."

"You will be," Swifty smiled.

He had no idea what that meant nor did he wish to find out.


	35. David Don't Preach

"What happened to that darling boy, Patrick?" Eva asked him.

She had invited him along to another one of their social functions which meant that he got another Hugo Boss suit. Not that he was complaining. It meant that he had something to wear to Jack's dad's wedding—speaking of which, Jack was becoming more and more manic as the dreadful day approached—and he could sell the other one on eBay.

"What boy?"

"That adorable little Italian boy with the cute little accent," she replied.

"Yeah!" Corbin squeaked. "We liked him!"

Hester nodded his agreement. Spot had momentarily forgotten that they knew about Spot. Strangely, Eva and her children were becoming more of his family than his actual family. They certainly knew more about his life.

"We kind of broke up," he shrugged.

"Oh no!" Corbin exclaimed. "I liked Antony."

So did I… 

He shrugged. Spot was doing a pretty good job of pretending not to care about Race. Sometimes, in the over two weeks since he caught him fooling around with that slut in the bar, he even managed to convince himself that he didn't care. But then he'd think of their first kiss—which was admittedly to make Jack jealous when he first saw him macking with David—to the time that they had sex before the now-not-so-virgin eyes of The Artist Formerly Known as Prince Froggerton. No, it wasn't sex. It had definitely been making love. As chick-like and estrogen-infused as it was to admit that, that was what it was. Well, fuck him. He had to fuck Spot by fucking that slut and he wasn't going to take that lying down. In the conventional sense.

Speaking of lying down, Gordon and his family came to sit at the table with him.

"Hello, Patrick," he smiled at him. "I see you've joined for more Mrs. Doubtfiring?"

"Couldn't help myself," he replied with a smirk. "I've grown accustomed to this life. Eva's spoiled me."

Eva smiled and rubbed his shoulders like he was her long lost, teenaged son.

"Not that I'm complaining," Gordon's eyes flashed behind his glasses.

Spot smiled. He wondered how Gordon would react if he showed him his tongue ring. He wondered when the moment would present itself. Raucous big band music was playing and everyone went up but not to dance. They went to mingle and gossip with the other, couture-wearing socialites.

Spot leaned closer to Gordon.

"You know," he smiled. "Part of me wants to kiss you right now."

Gordon smiled back. "And part of me wants to kiss you."

At the mention of that, Spot clicked his tongue ring against the back of his teeth and Gordon took his glasses off. His eyes were a streaky, brilliant shade of blue. It was nice.

"Okay, a lot of me _really_ wants to kiss you now," he whispered.

Then, just as the music swelled, he kissed him. Kissing Gordon and kissing Race were two totally different things. Something was just delicious about kissing Gordon. Like drinking a big vanilla milkshake really fast so it was hot and cold at the same time. It was nice.

--

"Mini soufflés, gougons, croissants, haggis, minced meat pie, duck pâté, petite fours, trifle, shepherd's pie, brie snappers whatever the fuck _those_ are…" Jack lay on David's bed—once again, in his shoes—ticking off items from the menu at his father's forthcoming wedding. "And that's just half of page one. I swear, there's ten pages of this shit. I'm glad Erin comes from money because no fucking way would my dad pay for this unless he starts incinerating my college fund. Oh and you should hear the fucking shit she said about my tux for best man since, according to her, all groomsmen and the best man must all wear the same thing. She picked cream, Davey, _cream_. Then she had the audacity to look at me and go 'hmmm, cream won't draw attention to your problem areas would it, Frankie?' God, I loathe that woman."

David just sat in Sarah's old butterfly chair, nodding his head sympathetically as Jack ranted. He felt like a psychologist and didn't open his mouth in fear the words 'mhm, and how does that make you _feel_?' would come out.

"Well Jack," he said. "I'm sorry. But I'll be there at the wedding and so will Spot and Race and things will be good."

Jack rolled his eyes and sat up.

"Please, keeping Spot and Race in the same room together will only prove catastrophic."

David cocked a brow.

"I thought they were going out."

"Key word: _were_. Now Spot's avoiding Race like he has the plague. It's kind of funny, actually. Now—"

David couldn't hear what he said next because, in the very next room, Sarah and Morris were having an explosive argument.

"Because you showed up _drunk_!" she yelled. "Drunk. To school! We are going to be graduating soon and you're going to screw everything up for yourself."

"Oh, shut the fuck up!" he shouted back. "You're my girlfriend, not my fucking mother!"

"Well if your mother paid attention to what you did—"

"I said shut up!"

Intrigued, Jack and David popped their heads out the door just in time to see Morris storm out of Sarah's room and out of the house. She followed him, stomping her feet in a much more ineffectual way, slamming the door behind him.

"Fine, GO!" she shouted after him.

Jack and David emerged completely from his room. Sarah fumed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"If that dickhead thinks I'm having his baby, he has another thing coming!" she proclaimed and disappeared into her room.

David blinked his eyes for a minute as what Sarah said registered in his head.

"I'm going to be an uncle?" he asked. "I'm going to be an _uncle_?"

Jack put a comforting arm around him.

"Hey," he said. "At least you're not being forced duck pâté."

"Shut up, Jack," he seethed.

--

Dutchy exhaled pot smoke into the air. Some people celebrated with a post-coital cigarette—or to just calm their nerves—but he preferred the post-coital joint. Soothed him way more than nicotine. Specs wrinkled his nose and waved his hand in front of his face.

"Do you mind?"

"Nope."

He laughed and draped an arm over his chest. "I missed you. It was awful in Boston. I so didn't fit in. I didn't have the accent."

Dutchy laughed more from joy than from pot.

"So why are you back? I thought your parents, like, totally hated me."

"Well, with my crazed, fundamentalist parents being the mockery of my Jewish family, my grandparents forced me back here. I'm living with them."

"And you finally came around."

Specs smirked at him. "I was always coming around. My parents just delayed things."

"Fuckers," he murmured, snubbing his joint. "Now, where were we?"

He pulled Specs on top of him and kissed him in every kissable spot, loving the fact that after so long apart—a year, almost—that they were finally together in that sweet, intimate way that he knew he wasn't feeling with the pot.

"I wuv you," he said to him.

Specs smiled. "Wuv you too, Dutch."

--

"Sarah, how long have you known?"

"I don't really want to talk about it."

He frowned. "You don't want to talk about it or you don't want to talk about it in front of Jack?"

She ignored him.

"You aren't going to keep it are you?"

"I say scrape it," Jack put in. "I mean, do you really want that Neanderthal spreading his genes to the world?"

David gave him an incredulous look. "Jack, aren't you Catholic?"

He smiled and winked at him. "Yeah but I'm still pro-choice. I mean, if I were knocked up, no I wouldn't get an abortion but I think people could. Like Sarah here. She should ax that little fu—"

Sarah glared at him.

"What?"

"I've made up my mind," she said. "I'm keeping my baby."

"Don't quote Madonna!" they yelled in unison.


	36. Sex and the Single Boys

Race's lower lip quivered as he stared at the paper. Didn't Denton say that he was going to outline the positive parts of their essays? All he saw was a lot of red ink. Without warning, tears starting to run down his face. Oh, shit. He was crying. Hurriedly, he started swiping at his face. Why was he crying? This had been going on for the past two weeks. Since Spot mysteriously stopped returning his calls and started ignoring him every day.

"Anthony?" Mr. Denton was looking at him strangely. "Do you want to sit outside class for a minute?"

He shook his head, too confused to speak. He cast a look at Spot who seemed perfectly fine. This, for some reason, just made him cry harder. Sure, he and Spot were no longer together. It was fine. Totally.

Then why couldn't he stop the tears from falling?

--

"I hate her," Mush said stubbornly.

Blink smiled thinly, his patience was wearing as thin as said smile. He put an arm around his boyfriend's shoulders.

"You've met her once," he cajoled.

"Yeah," he pouted. "And she called me a dirty half-breed, the racist."

Ah, so now it was out in the open. The reason why Mush didn't look forward to the meeting with Blink and Skittery's (who, by the way, was conspicuously missing) friend from childhood, Stefanie Armbruster. He had always been kind of sensitive about his background. Blink had never seen why. His mother was gorgeous, with the same full, sensuous lips as him and high, Egyptian goddess cheekbones. So what if she was black and his father was white? Although, Blink recalled, he had showed a flare of pride in fourth grade when he learned that his father was an eighth Argentinean and became fluent in Spanish.

Stefanie had moved away when Blink and Skits were six, having come back to the city once every summer. Evidently, this year she was making her annual visit earlier. A full five months earlier.

Mush had ranted about her being a racist before but his claims had fallen on deaf ears. When he had met Stefanie, he and Blink were just hooking up (as much as he despised using that term) so he figured it was pre-boyfriend jitters.

"Racist?" David screwed his face up. "I think I'm going to leave. I have an interview with someone from Berkley tomorrow at the Plaza."

"Interview?" Blink quirked a brow. "Already?"

He shrugged. "I want to get early admission. This seemed logical. He's in town for a business something or other."

He rubbed his face tiredly. "So this chick's a racist?"

Blink added a smirk to his quirked brow expression. David rarely used words like 'chick'. In fact, he couldn't remember him using them at all. This college thing must've really had him bugging.

"She's not," he argued.

Mush crossed his arms. "Oh, yes she is."

Blink opened his mouth to argue some more but a shrill squeal and a grab from behind made the words halt before they could spring from his larynx.

"Alex, baby!" Stefanie, a tall, angular girl with a platinum blond blunt cut, squeezed him tightly. "How's my favorite modern day pirate?"

"Hey, Stef," he wheezed.

Giggling, she let up on him and planted a platonic kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Sorry, Lexikins," she cooed.

She noticed Mush giving her a venomous look.

"Oh!" she squealed. "It's the mulatto boy! I didn't know you were still dating the half breed."

David crossed his arms, already not liking her.

"_Perra_," Mush muttered.

That was when she noticed David.

"Who's the kike?"

Blink noticed his friend's eyes go from blue to navy in anger. It was quite a mighty feat. David's jaw clenched and he managed to refrain from talking. A mighty feat for a motormouth like him.

"I have to go," he seethed and stormed away.

Blink sighed. Stefanie was just coming on strong. She hadn't lived in New York for ten years. She didn't know that calling someone a kike in Manhattan was a federal offense. Okay, calling Mush was a half breed was going too far but…

"So how's it like having a nigger for a mother?"

Okay, the braud was a fucking racist.

Mush, unable to muster succinct response, rose and stormed off to the bathroom.

"What'd I say to piss of halfy and your little kike friend?"

"Stefanie," Blink deadpanned. "We have to talk."

"What?" she mewled innocently.

"You're a fucking racist."

"So?"

"_So?_ You keep calling my boyfriend a half-breed. You—"

"Speaking of which," she smiled. "I hope you know that I'm completely uncomfortable with you referring to him as your boyfriend. Guys with guys…it's not natural."

Now _that_ was out of left field. Blink rose.

"Later bitchoid," he snapped and stormed off to the bathroom to find Mush.

--

Snitch flexed his toes inside of his unyielding Doc Martins. It had been a grueling four hours of work, flitting from table to table and being polite to fickle guests until his head felt like it was about to explode.

"You look wiped," a voice observed.

"How astute," he deadpanned.

Snitch turned to face Swifty who looked just as tired as he did.

"Dinner?" he offered, coming to sit next to him. "My treat. We can go to Shells."

Snitch wrinkled his nose. "What makes you think I'll like Shells?"

"Because you seem to have an obsession with aquatic life. I mean, you're wearing a Sea World t-shirt and you were an orca for Halloween."

He laughed mentally. How little Swifty knew. However, dude was loaded and Snitch was starving. Dinner actually sounded…nice.

"Sure," he agreed, doing his best to sound begrudging.

--

Jack was drinking coffee and Jack was not amused.

He tapped his sneakered foot impatiently on the scuffed linoleum floor of the Sullivan's apartment, arms crossed over his chest. It was eight at night and Erin's annoying niece Amelia was over, gushing with her over wedding plans. In her usual way of torturing Jack, she had invited him to sit in. Per usual, it entailed pointing out all of his shortcomings whenever she could.

Plus, Amelia had designs for him and ew. Just, ew.

"I think paisley would be a fine pattern," Amelia said earnestly. "So Jack, is that nose ring real?"

"Yeah," he replied brusquely.

"It looks infected," Erin wrinkled her surgically enhanced nose.

He eyed her coolly across the square of Formica. "So does that mole on the side of your neck. Better get more surgery."

Erin put a manicured hand over the offending blemish and went back to wedding planning.

"So Jack, you go to Pulitzer High?" Amelia giggled. "Is it true that they call it Homo High?"

"Yeah."

"Are you?"

He nodded, growing bored with her giggling and eyelash fluttering. One: she'd soon be family by marriage and B: he was gayer than an upside down Christmas tree.

"He used to date this adorable kid named David," Erin gushed with what Jack knew not to trust as a sudden flare of maternal urge. "But then he had to fuck it up."

Amelia smiled coyly at him. Jack sighed. It was going to be a long night.

--

It was going to be a long night.

Snitch frowned as he stared at Swifty try to start the Mustang.

"No, no, no," he moaned. "Start!"

They were in a seedy part of town and far, far away from the nearest Shells. They were stalled on the street between a Sky King Fireworks store and a strip joint. Neither venue seemed pleasing to the two boys to go into and ask to use the phone.

"This sucks," Swifty lamented.

Snitch leaned over and looked across the street.

"Maybe not," he smiled.

He didn't know why he was investing so much time with a boy he actively disliked. Maybe it was the car or the fact that he had offered dinner but he didn't just want to get out and call a cab.

Quickly, he unfastened his seatbelt and got out of the car.

"Come on!" he cajoled and started across the street.

Swifty got out of the car and followed him.

"Someone will steal it," he complained.

"I'm sure your daddy has insurance," he didn't bother to look over his shoulder.

He pulled the taller boy's arm and dragged him towards the luminous building in front of them.

"What is it?" Swifty asked.

"Benjamin," he smirked. "This is a Stop'n'Shop."

--

"Mush?" Blink stepped into the men's room. "I told her to fuck off. She shouldn't have said those things to you."

"Whatever!" the voice came from one of the stalls.

Blink all but knelt on the tiled floor to reach him.

"Sweetie, come on out."

There was much sighing but the door flew open and Mush stood, pouting and cross-armed.

"You told her to fuck off?" he asked, not removing his pout.

Blink nodded and tried to pry Mush's arms apart. Finally, he was victorious.

"You know," he smiled. "I've been keeping a log of all the places we've had sex."

"What does this have to do with Stefanie?"

"Nothing," he admitted. "But I'm just saying that men's room isn't on the list."

Stefanie who?

Blink smiled. "I think that's up for change."

He grabbed Mush around the waist and brought their lips together. Mush let out a little moan and wrapped his arms around Blink's shoulders. He turned him around and sat him up on the counter. He opened his mouth and their tongues did a little jig as their hands roamed all over each other, feeling the memory of their skin and the feat of how they were doing something entirely scandalous in a public place.

Mush snaked his legs around his waist and pulled Blink to him.

"Alex? I just wanted to say that I'm lea—"

The boys turned in unison to see Stefanie standing in the doorway.

"Get out," Mush demanded. "This is the men's room!"

She looked at them. "Fags!"

"Bitch!" Mush shouted after her.

Then she was gone and they got back to what they were doing.

--

"Let's switch," Swifty offered.

"No."

"Come on."

"I'm smaller."

They had been in the Stop'n'Shop for a good half hour, most of which was spent tooling around in a shopping cart and filching the remainder of the free samples. Swifty was examining Pringles currently and trying to finagle his way into letting him take Snitch's place inside the metal cart.

"Wait," Snitch held his hand up before he started laughing. "Oh, my God."

Swifty cocked a brow. "What?"

"Listen."

"…We'll drive you crazy…"

"Is that?" he blanched.

Snitch started laughing uncontrollably. "It is!"

"I wanna rock'n'roll all niiiiight!" they sang in unison. "And party every day!"

They burst into hysterics. Who would have thought it? KISS playing in a Stop'n'Shop. Seized by Gene Simmons's voice and a bit of an apple crumble high courtesy of the kindly old lady in the bakery section, Swifty leaned in and kissed Snitch in the cart.

--

Race sat on the cement steps Monday after school, waiting for Jack to hurry his perky ass up. That was when he saw it. Some guy in a yellow sweater and khakis with a blazer and a long ass nose was with Spot. _His_ Spot. Scratch that…formerly his Spot. He had fucked everything up and there he was, hanging off the lapels of some mystery boy.

"Kiss me," he heard Spot say.

To his surprise, sweater boy laughed. "Because you want to or because someone's watching, Patrick?"

Who called him Patrick outside of his parents? What the fuck?

"Both," he heard Spot reply.

Then that fucker pulled Spot in for a slow, movie kiss.

"That has to hurt," Jack picked that moment to finally show up.

"Fuck up, Kelly," but Race could already feel the tears start to well up.

What the fuck was wrong with him?


	37. Blinded by the Light

Jack didn't know why he wanted David back so badly. It couldn't be the 'you only want what you cannot have' thing because he knew the jones he felt for David were not like a little kid who was upset that someone was riding their usually abandoned rocking horse. And he wasn't sure why. David was a smart aleck; he was pretty annoying sometimes. And it wasn't like he was all that great in bed (although he didn't really have to do all that much) and Jack had had better. In fact, he had been a virgin before Jack had relieved him of that burden. But his stomach did those little flip-flops when David was around and he couldn't even _think_ about sex with anyone else. He had to be in love. Shit.

And, to make matters worse, he was stuck wedding planning again. It was enough to drive him to shovel down the pieces of chicken at the Chili's they were in and those things were ninety percent batter grease. Erin looked down her nose at him.

"Frankie, you aren't binging and purging are you? I had a friend who did that and nearly ruptured something."

About three million responses ran through Jack's head but he settled on the neutral. "Thanks for sharing."

"Francis," his father gave him a dirty look.

Apparently not neutral enough.

"Oh, you're _so_ funny," Amelia cooed. "Isn't he funny, auntie?"

Erin didn't answer her. For once, Jack was grateful towards her.

--

**Klepto Orca: **So Swift and I went out after work

**xXMy Oh MyXx: **And I care why?

**Klepto Orca: **because you're my friend you douche?

**xXMy Oh MyXx: **Alright I'll bite. What happened?

**Klepto Orca: **Well, we were driving and his car broke down in front of a Stop'n'Shop, right? And we went in and he was running down the aisle with me in the carriage and all of a sudden, KISS starts playing on the sound system for some reason

**xXMy Oh MyXx:** Lick it Up?

**Klepto Orca: **I Wanna Rock'n'Roll All Nite. So anyway, we were singing along with the chorus and

**xXMy Oh MyXx: **What?

**Klepto Orca: **he kissed me

**xXMy Oh MyXx: **he kissed you

**Klepto Orca: **On the lips

**xXMy Oh MyXx: **I know where people kiss people you idiot

**Klepto Orca: **So now I don't know what to do because…

**xXMy Oh MyXx:** you liked it didn't you?

**Klepto Orca: **yes. Yes I did. And it's strange because I didn't like him up _until_ he kissed me. Stupid Gene Simmons

**xXMy Oh MyXx: **XD well wait, you didn't like him?

**Klepto Orca: **I work with him and he has enough money never to work a day in his life. Ergo, I'm jealous. AND I like Itey.

**xXMy Oh MyXx: **When have you ever spoken to Itey?

**Klepto Orca: **It's the principle of the matter Skits

**xXMy Oh MyXx: **Whatevs

**xXMy Oh MyXx: **So Swifty kissed you and you liked it. So not the end of the world

**Klepto Orca: **Why am I taking your advice? Your taste in men veers towards psychotic. Going to start dating Patrick Bateman next?

**xXMy Oh MyXx: **I don't date fictional characters you douche. But if I did, Huck Finn would be up there. Meow

**Klepto Orca: **You sicken me

--

David sat nervously in the hotel room. This was stupid. Really stupid. This was his college interviewer. The college interviewer who had been plying him with alcohol for hours but still. He had to remain completely composed and, dear God, _Dirty Dancing _was on the TV. What the hell? Where was he? He needed to get the hell out of Dodge pronto. He jumped to his feet but his spatial awareness wasn't as it should be and he fell back onto the bed, legs splayed. Just as that moment, Draven Wells reentered from the bathroom.

He walked up to David and knelt by the bed. "Tell me your interests."

He bit his lower lip. This couldn't end well. Plus, he was drunk. For the second time in his life, he was shit-faced. He couldn't remember his own name let alone his interests. What _were_ his interests. Did he have interests?

"Uh…writing," he said. "And Russian literature."

He was proud that he could remain so composed under sufficient inebriation. Then Draven kissed him and that composure went out the window. The man, while hot for an older guy, was an older guy and could probably get arrested for this sort of thing. This didn't, however, keep David from macking back. Draven pulled himself onto the bed to deepen the angle of the kiss. His hand smoothed up the thigh of David's jeans and played with the hem of his t-shirt.

"I've never done this with a potential student before," he admitted. "None of the boys were…"

David just closed his eyes, preferring not to answer him or even look at him. He felt Draven's hand inch his shirt up before halting on his stomach.

"Is that a tattoo?" David opened his eyes to see a smile playing on his lips. "PAVIP? What's that mean?"

He remembered the excruciating pain that wrought that tattoo and Jack's face as he not so sheepishly mentioned that he hadn't mastered D's yet. Jack. Immediately, he sobered up. Holy shit, he couldn't do this.

"I can't!" he shouted. "I mean, I can't do this. At all. I…have a boyfriend. He gave me the tattoo."

Draven stood up. "Too right. And you could be going to Berkley next year. My deepest apologies, Mr. Jacobs. I don't know what came over me."

"Me neither," he lied, knowing that vodka had been involved in his own clouding of judgment.

Draven shook his hand. "Well, I'll be looking forward to reading your application."

And that was that. David stood shakily and left just as Patrick Swayze so "rebelliously" shattered the window on his own car.

--

Jake opened his eyes groggily. Snoddy was wrapped around him in what could be easily construed as a platonic gesture from anyone who knew them well. Unfortunately, the only person who did know them that well was curled up on the floor. After a night of venting about his stupidity for coming at Snitch tongue first, Swifty had collapsed on Snoddy's carpeted floor, snoring softly.

This morning was different for another reason. He and Snoddy had been in that position many times and Jake had even had a boner before but now it had less to do with urination and more to do with the taut flesh pressing into his body and the fact, the hair the…he took a deep breath. Oh, fuck it. He kissed him.

Snoddy opened his doe eyes and they lit up as Jake kissed him. He unfurled himself from him so they could be at a better angle. Jake couldn't believe how much he was enjoying kissing a boy. Granted, Snoddy was as close to a woman as a man was going to get so maybe it didn't count. Still, he loved sliding his fingers under his t-shirt, touching the skin he found there. Letting his tongue roam around inside of his mouth and they were going to…

"Ewww!" Snoddy squeaked suddenly, disengaging their mouths. "I'm sorry, Jake but…it's like having sex with a teddy bear!"

He rolled off of him, dazed. Swifty rose.

"_What?_"

"Nothing," Jake grumbled.

Snoddy smiled devilishly at him. "I don't know how you get so many girls to sleep with you. You're a crap kiss."

Jake picked up a pillow and lobbed it at his head. "Momentary moment of sexual identity crisis in the morning, my dear."

"Momentary moment?" Swifty asked from his position on the floor.

He grabbed Snoddy's other pillow and lobbed it at _his_ head. "You know what I mean."

--

Sarah took deep, even breaths.

"Just say it," she said to herself from her position on the plaid couch in the crowded, DeLancey apartment.

"So," Oscar came into the kitchen. "You're knocked up, eh?"

She blanched. "Who told you?"

He smirked. "No one. I saw it. I had this girlfriend last year, Vanessa. Well, I noticed she gained some weight. So I told her this. And she smacked me. Then she gained more weight to, I thought, spite me. Turned out she was preggers. So I broke up with her."

"You broke up with her because she was pregnant?"

"No, I broke up with her because she was cheating on me with the entire varsity wrestling team. It wasn't even my kid."

"What does that have to do with me?"

He smirked again. "I know the signs."

Morris stepped from the bathroom. "You leave Sarah alone."

Oscar rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't dream of touching her, brother dear. Oh, speaking of which, I have something to tell you."

He waved a hand. "Not now. Sarah wanted to say something."

Showtime. Now or never.

"I'm pregnant," she declared.

To her surprise, Morris didn't yell or freak out. He simply fainted.

"Oh, shit," Oscar mumbled for a reason Sarah didn't know.


	38. BECAUSE HE'S KEANU REEVES BITCH!

Oscar kicked his brother lightly with the toe of his sneaker.

"Oh, my God," Sarah put her face in her hands. "I am a horrible person."

"No, just a careless one," Oscar retorted before going back to kicking his brother. "Wakey, wakey. This is my one chance to tell you this and I'm not gonna do it again."

Groggily, Morris opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows.

"What happened?" he mumbled.

"Oh, Sarah just said she was pregnant," Oscar squat down. "Listen, we need to talk. There is something I'm never going to be able to ever get the courage to say again ever…okay, that made more sense in my head but…hey!"

Morris had dropped to the ground again. Oscar got on all fours and started batting his face.

"Wake up!"

For a few, eternity-long seconds, Morris just lay there and the only sounds were Oscar's palms coming in contact with his cheeks and Sarah's sobbing.

"Fuck this," Oscar grumbled.

He reached under his brother and hauled him up, pulling him onto the couch next to Sarah.

"Wake up, you fucking asshole," he commanded, tapping his foot on the ground.

He opened his eyes again. "Okay…I'm awake you douche."

This was their affection. Oscar turned to Sarah.

"Hey, come here."

She was still crying and obviously didn't hear him. He grabbed her arm and dragged her to the door.

"Listen," he said in a low, determined voice. "I think it's best if you leave now."

She wiped her eyes. "You mean you're going to spare me any yelling or arguing?"

Oscar laughed. "No. I'm about to come out to my brother and I really don't want you here. Bye now."

With that, he opened the door to their apartment and shoved Sarah before slamming the door so hard, the statue of the Virgin Mary toppled from her little shelf and shattered on the ground. She stared up at him angrily as if condemning him.

"Oh, go fuck yourself," he waggled his crucifix at her. "Not singing my flesh, bitch."

"Oscar? Is it the head injury or are you talking to the broken Virgin Mother?"

"It's your mild concussion," he said quickly.

He took a deep breath. Okay, now or never.

"Mo," he stepped over the shards of plaster and neared his brother. "There is something I need to tell you."

"What? Are you pregnant too?" he laughed at his own joke. "Or is Sarah's baby yours?"

"You see…" he rolled his eyes at that last comment. "You're probably wondering why I haven't brought any chicks over in awhile, right? Or gone anywhere with any girl?"

He shifted uncomfortably on the couch. Okay, no way did his ape of a brother see this coming.

"I figured you were, you know, fucking them at their place," he shrugged.

"And why I haven't boxed since last year."

That didn't really have so much to do with his homosexuality but in the fact that he had taken up guitar, which tied in with the 'I'm a homo' thing because he was only practicing songs to play for Skittery (grueling though it was to admit).

"Uh huh."

"Well, I'm gay."

There. He said it. Out in the open.

"What?"

Shit.

"I'm gay. Queer. Fag. I'm a butt-humping, man-loving friend of Dorothy's," he proclaimed.

Double shit. Now he was taking it WAY too far. Shut up, shut up.

"You're a fag?"

"Now we're on the same page!" he exclaimed. "Okay—"

He never got that sentence out. Apparently, Morris's head injury—the most recent one—wasn't as bad as either had thought. He was obviously well enough to stand up and punch Oscar in the face.

--

"I feel so grown up," Spot smiled at Gordon across the table as the _maitre'd_ took his black denim jacket.

Actually, he felt kind of juvenile after _that_ comment but he felt kind of uneasy with Gordon, college boy. His diminutive size didn't help either in this feeling young thing.

The two were currently seated in one of Stone Flower Lee's many restaurants on the Upper Eastside. If Spot had been the gossiping type, he would have intimated that he went to school with the man's son but Swifty wasn't all that popular anyway…oh, and Spot wasn't the gossiping type.

The restaurant was beautiful. Linen on the tables, candles with netting on them like fishnet stockings. He remembered the last time he had gone to a place with netted candles. It was after sophomore year and he, Jack, and Race went to some pizza place in Jersey. Race had stripped the netting off of the candle and slipped it onto his leg like a stocking. Stop it. Stop thinking about Race.

"So," Gordon broke a roll of bread while Spot perused the menu, awaiting for their waiter. "I heard you used to have a pretty serious boyfriend. What happened with that?"

Spot bit his lip. "Oh, we broke up."

"Ah, who broke up with whom?"

He opened his mouth but paused. Actually, there had been no official breaking up. Spot had just ignored his calls until Race got the hint.

"Well, I mean," he said. "I guess me. But we never officially said that we weren't going out any more but I guess I did it. Although, he _was _cheating on me."

Just then, Spot felt tears well up in his eyes. What the fuck? He hated when he cried, especially in public. He grabbed the napkin and unfurled it quickly, sending his silverware sprawling. Then he held it to his eyes to block the tears.

"Are you all right?" Gordon asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Yeah," Spot mumbled shakily from behind the napkin.

If it had been Race, he would've laughed and told him to go fuck himself for making him cry. But Gordon wasn't Race and if Spot told him to go fuck himself, he probably would.

He managed to get his tears under control and placed the napkin on his lap.

"So, what classes do you take at Columbia?"

Like he cared. Gordon answered him but he really wasn't listening. His mind was too busy downloading this newest bit of revelation as it hit him. And that new revelation was that he was still in love with Race.

--

Jack shoved Skittery harshly against the locker. More harshly, admittedly, than he had planned. The wedding was getting to him in a most horrid way—next week, gag—and he was taking it out on those around him. Now that Skittery had done anything but he needed information.

"Listen, Newcomb," he enunciated every word as if he sharpened them before speaking. "I want to know how to get Davey back and I want to know now."

Skittery let out a little gasping noise as Jack held him firmly under his breastbone.

"Sternum…" he managed. "…bruising."

Jack let up. "Oh, sorry. Now fucking tell me."

He thought for a moment. Jack tapped his foot and crossed his arms, head tilted to the side in a general 'I'm waiting you ass' fashion. Skittery tapped his chin again in thought and he could nearly see the little Polo-clad hamsters wheeling around in his skull.

"I said 'now fucking tell me,'" he turned to some random kid walking behind me. "Did I not just say 'now fucking tell me'?"

The kid let out an audible squeak and ran down the hall.

"Jack, take your foot out of your mouth for one moment and calm your perky little ass," Skittery snapped. "I'm thinking."

Jack narrowed his eyes; no one talked to him like that.

"I said calm down," he mocked his voice. "Did I not just say 'calm down'?"

He paused. "Okay. Rent _Singles_. Watch it. Pay attention to Cliff and Janet. There. Vamoose. I have Bio to get to."

With that, Skittery skirted down the hallway. _Singles_? What the hell was that? Jack's mind was reeling that someone wasn't intimidated by him and his seat of power in the school and that he now had to watch some movie he had never heard of. Well, at least Bono would be proud since it was all _IN THE NAME OF LOVE_.

--

"So, I didn't want to have sex with him in front of you," Snoddy explained to Swifty. "But I still want to. Now I don't know if Jake ever wants to do it again and that I ruined my chances."

"Uh huh…" Swifty said, distractedly.

He didn't really care about the Snoddy and Jake debacle. But Snitch hadn't spoken to him since their kiss. What was wrong with him? That goddamn Gene Simmons.

"Hey."

Speak of the devil…and speaking too soon. Snitch stood in front of them in a Savage Garden t-shirt that had to be a steal from Blink Bennetson and a corduroy jacket and jeans ending in purple high tops. Weird, but he looked adorable.

"Swifty, we should talk."

He disengaged himself from Snoddy as Snitch drew him to the side.

"So…you kissed me," he said. "And I liked it. I didn't want to…but I did."

Swifty laughed. "Thanks."

"I liked Itey," he admitted. "But I've never spoken to him."

He nodded.

"Until today. He likes you."

He started to nod again but paused. "What?"

"Yeah. I talked to him and told him I liked him. He said he liked you. Which is good because I didn't want to go out with him," he admitted. "Since he never kissed me in a Stop'n'Shop."

They shared a laugh.

"I can't believe," Snitch said. "That if we go out, our song will be a KISS one."

"Go out?"

"That's what people do, right?"

Swifty put an arm around him. "Yeah, sure."

--

Oscar came up to Skittery in bio, Discman in hand, the Flik sticker glaring from the fluorescent light. He was smiling and that usually didn't mean a good thing. Then he did something surprising. He kissed him. Publicly.

"Hey," he said, grinning. "I came out to Morris."

"You did?"

"I did. And he heard me…I think. He was fucking from this…other thing but he _did_ punch me so I think he did."

So _this_ was why he was uncharacteristically chipper. Oscar grabbed his hand almost awkwardly and laced their fingers. Skittery was all but orgasming as they went into the classroom.

--

The faux heat in the History classroom was making Pie's head pound and his teacher going on and on and on about the Alamo was making it worse.

Mr. Malachi wasn't obsessed with JFK like Landis but was obsessed with the Wild, Wild West. There were rumors that he had life-sized replicas of Clint Eastwood, John Wayne, and other great western stars (including the entire cast of _Bonanza_) in his house that he ate dinner with every night.

"So, class," he stated. "Let's refresh. What do we know about the Alamo now?"

Not surprisingly, Dutchy's hand shot straight in the air. Sighing, Mr. Malachi pointed to him.

"Jansen."

"Perry."

He ignored the suggestion. "What do you know about the Alamo, _Jansen_?"

Dutchy, too, ignored him and smiled widely. "That there's no basement."

Most of the class chortled but several just looked confused. Pie, though headache-y, gave him a look.

"Honestly," he said, all mock affronted.

Dutchy gave him a bright smile before saying, in a God awful southern accent. "There's no basement in the Alamo."

Pie found himself smiling despite himself.

At that moment, he developed a bit of a crush.

--

"So your college interviewer molested you?" Snitch asked, coming to sit down on David's couch, bowl of popcorn in hand.

David shoved him. "He did not molest me. He just got me drunk and tried to have sex with me. It's two completely different things."

Skittery, who was all aflush, joined them. He was in a cloud of Drakkar Noir brought on by Oscar and his public outing. Granted, he still hadn't come out to his parents ("my mom could deal but my dad would murder me.") but it was a start. No less than fifteen people had seen him kiss him in the hallway and more had seen them hold hands into fourth. The smell was also physical and reminded him of the closeness they'd shared that day. It was enough to make him swoon.

"What are we watching?" Blink leapt over the back of the couch.

"David's admittance that he wants Jackie back," Snitch offered.

Skittery toyed with a button on his Polo shirt, deciding not to mention that Jack wanted him back. Best let him surprise him and not fuck it up.

"What are we _really _watching?" Blink shoved Snitch.

"Me make out with Swifty?" he offered, holding up his cell phone. "But a call away. Not that we've made out yet. I mean, I was totally wigging but now—"

Blink kicked him. "What are we really watching, for real?"

"_Point Break_," Snitch said evilly. "And _that's_ the truth."

Blink frumped on the couch. "I'd rather watch _Orca_ again."

"Well…"

"No!" David and Skittery shouted in unison.

"Let's watch _Point Break_," David said quickly.

"Yeah, we get to see Keanu's ass."

Snitch wrinkled his nose. "No thanks. I'm not an ass man. But still, this movie is so laughably bad. For seriously. You and Skits will have a _field_ day with it."

--

"Alright, this movie officially blows," Skittery remarked. "How the hell can he catch up to that car on foot? It's completely illogical."

Snitch turned and looked at him before screaming in his face. "BECAUSE HE'S KEANU REEVES, BITCH!"

The four of them convulsed in laughter on the couch as "Johnny Utah" trooped after "Bodhi" and his gang of masked thugs as they sped away.

"I'm just waiting for the Gary Busey character to die," Blink said. "It's really obvious that he's going to."

David fell against his friends, feeling his sides ache with laughter. He could forget about things like Sarah and her pregnancy or Draven Wells or the feelings he still had for Jack. It was almost magical, even. Of course, this was unvocalized. He wasn't about to go all girly on them.

"Okay," Blink managed. "I take it back. I really _would_ rather watch _Orca_."

--

Race took a deep breath. Do it. Do it. Do it. He picked up the phone and dialed Spot's number. Per usual, he got his voicemail.

"…This is Spot or Patrick or whatever. There's going to be a beep. If you don't know what to do after it then I can't help you…"

There was an automated voice telling him what he could do. He gripped his phone, waiting for the tone.

"Hey," he said quietly. "Um…it's Race. Call me back, okay? We need to talk."

Then he hung up. Not much but it was a start.


	39. Farting Pop Secret

**A/N: **Oxymoronic Alliteration suggested having Snitch go see _Snakes on a Plane_. An utterly genius idea but then I realized that the timeline wouldn't coincide with the movie's theatrical run since we're in the end of March right now…so I tried fitting it in as best I could.

--

"So are you and Swifty going out now?" Skittery asked, slamming his locker shut at the end of the day Friday with a metallic clank.

Snitch wrinkled his nose. "I hate how we assign such arbitrary labels to two people enjoying each other's company."

"So that's a no."

He glared at him. "Need I remind you that you and Oscar were fooling around for four months before he actually decided to call you his boyfriend?"

Skittery shoved him good-naturedly as they headed out to his car. It was stupid, though, to drive in Manhattan, but the yellow Neon had been a gift from his mother (the only flare of maternal pride she had indulged in upon his fourteenth birthday) and, estrogen-infused as it sounded, Skittery liked driving it in an attempt to be closer to her.

"Well," Snitch paused to stretch in the sun. With April nearing them, the weather was finally starting to warm up. It also was drawing the seniors into a manic state and that always delighted those under them. "I am going over to his house tonight so you never know."

Skittery nodded. "Oscar's coming over tonight…to my house. He told me that Morris is telling their parents that he knocked up Davey's sister and he really doesn't want to be there."

Snitch nodded but he knew that his friend was only half-listening. He was getting more and more distracted throughout the week. Be it Swifty or the fact that it had been two whole weeks since he got to delight in the image of Bo Derek getting her leg bitten off by a killer whale.

"He gonna bite your butt?" he asked suddenly, grinning maniacally at Skittery.

He shoved him. "Oh, shut up, _Nero_. I'm sure Swifty will be pining to bite yours after he finds out that you still suck your thumb."

He gave him an icy glare. "Not cool, man."

Not cool, Skittery thought, but quite true. After their night of mocking _Point Break_, the four had all but collapsed, asleep, on the couch and awoke in the morning to find Snitch dutifully sucking his thumb. He had looked up at their grinning faces and managed a 'I can explain' around the offending digit.

"You need a ride?" he offered as they reached his car parked in front of the school.

"Must you ask? I'm a fucking mooch."

Skittery shook his head and unlocked the door. Snitch opened back and tossed his stuff in before preparing to get in.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"What? Blink always gets shotgun."

Skittery shook his head. "He's taking the bus with Mush."

"Oh. Cool. I get shotgun!" Snitch slammed the back door.

He shook his head again and got into the driver's seat.

"You know," Snitch remarked thoughtfully. "Blink and Mush are the perfect couple. I mean, you have you and Oscar, too dysfunctional for words. And then Spot and Race who, apparently, had this big falling out or whatever. At least that's what Tina Hooper said but she makes everything up. And Jack and David are too stupid to realize that they still love each other. They're the only sane ones here."

Skittery considered this as he started the car. "Good point. I mean, there was that whole thing at the beginning of the year but—"

"It was fixed. Thanks to _me_ and my geniosity," Snitch cut in.

"But," Skittery glared at him. "They're perfect. The perfect couple."

"The perfect couple," Snitch echoed. "Wonder what it's like…"

--

Dutchy leaned back into Specs and put his hand in his own. "So there's a rave tonight."

Bumlets rolled his eyes dramatically. "Wasn't 1999 a few years ago?"

He glared at him. "Funny how you can still be totally pretentious while wearing a Poison t-shirt."

Pie laughed and shook his head, closing his History textbook.

"Why would we want to go to a rave?" Specs asked.

Dutchy took a deep breath, disengaged himself from his boyfriend and looked around.

"_Because_ it's Friday night and we're not _doing_ anything. I mean, we're about to pop some fucking popcorn into the microwave and watch some lame documentary! I don't know about you guys but I can wait for this. I can sit on a couch with some people farting Pop Secret when I'm, like, forty."

The remaining three glanced at each other. It wasn't a very convincing argument but it did get them to agree to go to the rave.

--

Race made his way through the crush of bodies at the party. Whose party was it again? Did it even matter? He wound around some half-naked couple all but doing it in one of the corners and jumped over the back of the couch to escape the throng of people. What was with these stupid parties? Why was he even here?

Ah, yes. Jack had commandeered he, David, and Spot and enlisted them to join them at this particular party to escape the fact that his father was getting married Tuesday. Knowing Jack, he was probably passed out in the toilet at this point. But it wasn't Jack he was looking for. Spot had disappeared the moment they had entered. He needed to find him.

There he was, sitting on one of the tall kitchen chairs with Jack who looked a little worse for wear. Race took a deep breath and went over to him. He leaned in and kissed him on the side of the neck. Spot gave a little uncharacteristic gasp and turned around.

Jack shook his head in laughter as David came up to him, all whey-faced and wan.

"Can we leave?" he asked. "I feel claustrophobic."

He draped an arm around him. "Whatever you say, sweetikins."

He gave him a look. "You're plastered."

Before Jack could answer, there was a little moan from behind him.

"You know," he told Race and Spot who were now groping each other like two sex-starved animals. "There are rooms _right_ over there."

With that, he grabbed David's arm. "Come on. They'll probably end up spending the night."

And they were gone.

--

Music pounded the very core of those in the underground club. It was an awful techno remix of 'Fernando' by ABBA. And yet, everyone was dancing. Dutchy was actually trying to get Specs to dance but he could only get him to ineffectually shuffle his feet a little. Pie felt weird. Like he had been slipped something. His heart was racing and he felt lightheaded. Maybe he needed to eat something.

"There was something in the air that night, the stars were bright, Fernando…" the words were put against an awful, DDR-like beat that was doing nothing for his dizzy spell.

He teetered a little and felt someone grip his upper arm.

"_¿Estás bien?_" Bumlets asked him, speaking directly into his ear to be heard over the music. "You okay?"

He could only manage to nod but the music combined with his lightheadedness was making him certainly not _bien_ at all.

It would certainly explain what happened next. Why he suddenly wrapped his arms around Bumlets's neck and kissed him to the throbbing, yet strangely coincidental beat of the ABBA tune.

--

Spot pulled Race into the bedroom of the apartment, falling onto the bed. They hadn't stopped kissing since he had come up and kissed his neck. The room was spinning as they ripped each other's clothes off.

"So are we back together?" Race asked sheepishly.

Unable to muster succinct comment, he just rolled his eyes and nodded. Race jumped onto the bed and started jumping up and down.

"Woo hoo!" he crowed, bouncing on the mattress.

Spot sat up and grabbed his knees so he toppled over and fell on him. He couldn't believe it. Two weeks ago Race cheated on him. Spot got him back with…whatshisname and now they were together. Getting ready to fuck on some random kid's bed.

Life was fucked up like that.

--

Snitch pulled his t-shirt down where it had ridden up and let out a deep whoosh of air. "Well, we failed in finding a new couple song but we did get to make out."

Swifty hit him playfully. "I guess we're cursed to be a KISS couple."

He pretended to pout and then his eyes traveled down to Swifty's pants where his erection was bulging against the denim.

"That's not the only curse," he teased.

He tackled him. "You and your Romanian hotness turned me on."

He looked back down. "You know, that's it!"

"What's it?" Swifty looked confused.

"I have had it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane!" he shouted, pointing at his crotch.

Swifty faked a pissed off look. "You are a juvenile."

--

Jack and David sat in the van, edging through traffic.

"You looked sick back there," Jack remarked. "You alright?"

He nodded. "Just fine."

They inched through the night for a few minutes before David spoke again.

"I nearly had sex with my college interviewer," he admitted. "But then he found my tattoo…and I thought of you."

He looked at him. "Are you serious?"

"I was drunk."

"Who are you and what have you done with David?"

He laughed and rested his head on the headrest of the passenger seat. He turned his head to look at Jack's exquisite profile, remembering for some reason ,the first time he saw him on his first day in that ridiculous Twinkie the Kid t-shirt. Jack had always captivated him. What was wrong with them?

"You thought of me, huh?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

Jack's lips curled up in a fair approximation of a smile. Then he leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Excellent," he whispered, breath warm against his skin. "Excellent."


	40. Papa Can You Hear Me?

"Snoddy," Jake walked in the room, staring in awe at the bareness of his friend's walls. "What are you doing?"

"Hey Jake!" he responded happily, tossing what looked to be rolled up posters out the window.

It didn't answer his question but it did kind of explain the excess amount of littering Snoddy was doing out the window. As the last of the posters dropped from the balcony, he saw him pick up a new one and start to unfurl it. Well, that answered his other question but Jake wasn't a subscriber to the 'actions speak louder than words' mentality.

"Snoddy, what the fuck are you doing?" he asked tiredly.

He turned and smiled at him. "Well, Jakey. Heath Ledger can kiss my ass! I'm so over him, it's not even funny."

"I'm sure he's heart broken."

He batted him playfully. "Psh!"

Jake, who had admittedly been avoiding Snoddy since their near sexual encounter, shuddered at the platonic touch. Then he watched him put up the new poster of a cuter version of Ben Affleck with a smaller head.

"Who's that?"

"Casey Affleck!" he gushed. "Isn't he adorable? I saw this movie yesterday that, like, took place in the 80s and oh, my GOD! He was so smoking! I mean, God, Summer Phoenix is _soo_ lucky. But then again, maybe not _that_ lucky because her name is Summer Phoenix…"

Jake shook his head at the boy-craziness of his best friend.

"Not that…" he gave Jake a significant look. "You aren't cuter."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah…"

"_But_!" the hyper demeanor was back. "I bet Casey Affleck digs guys named Shawnee!"

At that one, Jake couldn't help but smile. "I bet he does, Snod."

--

Oscar stepped into the crowded apartment, side-stepping around a cluster of thirteen-inch TVs. Much to his surprise, his brother stood in the doorway of their bedroom, arms crossed over his chest. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, which was believable considering that he had gotten two, earth-shattering revelations with no more than a five minute interval between each.

"Can we talk?" he asked him.

"Sure thing, Joan," Oscar replied.

The reference, of course, went way over Morris's head judging by the 'huh' look on his face. Oscar slumped down on the plaid couch against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yes?"

"Did I hear you right or was it my head thing?"

"That I'm gay?" why was it so much easier to say now that he had said it the first time?

Morris nodded. "Yeah. That you're a fag."

"Yes, I am. Got that covered? Great. I'm going to our room."

He stood but Morris seized his arm. "Don't you care that you could get beaten up or made fun of?"

Oscar laughed dryly. "Mo, people are terrified of me no matter _what_ my sexual orientation is. It won't matter."

The hand gripping his arm tightened its hold. "But I'm not scared of you."

Oh, shit. This was utter bull! What the fuck was he doing?

"Let me go," he commanded, voice low and authoritative.

"You're a fucking fag!" Morris retorted oh, so cleverly. "Why would you do that?"

That comment was what pissed him off. Oscar twisted his arm so he could break free.

"You're saying this like it was choice!" he snapped. "That I woke up one day and was like 'Hmm…I think I'll wear this shirt, these pants and oh, yeah, I'm going to want to fuck a guy!' It doesn't work like that! I didn't ask to be this but I am and I am in love with…"

He let his voice trail off and played it off like he was waiting for Morris to reply by crossing his arms over his chest. Inside, he was reeling. Had he just said that he was _in love_ with Skits?

--

"Mama, I brought my super cute boyfriend home!" Snitch called, poking his head into the apartment. "Mom?"

The apartment was darkened and felt kind of cold. Snitch stepped in, shivering slightly. Daly had to have been overdosing on air conditioning again. Stupid kid was going to send them to the poorhouse.

"If your mom's not home, I can go," Swifty offered from behind him.

Snitch shook his head. "Nah, it's fine. Mom's cool with guests if she's not home."

He went to the kitchen where, sure enough, he saw a note tacked to the door.

_Nero baby:_

_Had to take Daly to this prison camp thing in Maryland. Apparently, he's posed 'a significant threat to the school' for setting off a stink bomb. I know, bullshit, right? I'll be back Monday. You know where the take-out numbers are._

_--Mom_

Snitch took the note down and opened the cabinet under the sink where the garbage can waited. Then he got to work on finding something for him and Swifty to drink. His mother didn't care what he drank or how much just as long as he was in the house.

"Hey, Snitch," Swifty called from the other side of the counter, which was the family room. "There's a red light beeping on your answering machine. Want me to press it?"

He waved a hand while he looked for the key to the liquor cabinet. "Oh, sure."

Soon, a mechanical voice filled the air. "You have _one_ new meh-seh-ge and _two_ old meh-seh-gess. Tuesday, two thur-tee-one P-M…"

Then a voice that Snitch hadn't heard in a very long time started to talk.

"Deb? It's me. I just wanted to let you know that I'm coming back to the island this Friday. I, um, I wanna see the boys. You guys live in the same place, right? Call me back at…"

Snitch didn't bother listening to the number. "Delete it."

Swifty looked at him. "Is that your dad?"

He glared. "I said, delete it."

He did as he was told. Deleting the message, though, wouldn't stop his father from coming. He felt arms wrap around his midsection.

"You alright?" Swifty asked sweetly.

Snitch shrugged. "He left us before Daly was born. My mom was still _pregnant_ for Christ's sake. And now he wants to see us. Almost thirteen fucking years later."

Swifty rested his head on his shoulder. "I could go with you. You know, just stay here for moral support or whatever."

Dear God, did he have the _best_ boyfriend or what?

"You'd do that?" he asked, leaning into him a little.

"Oh, sure," Snitch felt his lips kiss his jaw line lightly. "Us sons of fucked up families have to stick together."

He giggled. "Alright, Mr. wah-wah-my-family-is-super-rich-but-they're-stupid. Let's go get the key to my mom's liquor cabinet and get plastered."

Swifty laughed. "Ah, the answer to everything. Pollution."

--

Skittery was a lot of things—some requiring prescribed medication—but he never thought of himself as the type to moon over romantic gestures like some lovesick character in a John Hughes or Cameron Crowe movie. This current situation leaned towards the latter as in the Lloyd Dobler boom box scene in _Say Anything_. Except this was infinitely more romantic because Oscar was playing the music himself…and it wasn't Peter Gabriel.

"When times get tough…" he sang in a voice Skittery had no idea he had. "and friends just can't be found…like a bridge over troubled water…I will lay me down. Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down."

"Wow," Skittery said as he put the guitar away. "Where have you been hiding super sexy sensitive Oscar?"

He hit him playfully. "Shut up."

"No, I'm serious. It's nice to be in a room with you when you aren't having to prove yourself ever the tough…"

He zeroed in on something on the floor. A laugh bubbled in his chest as Skittery pulled up the baby doll.

"You still have this!" he enthused. "The project ended, like, eight months a—"

He never got that sentence out because the doll flew from his hand as Oscar tackled him to the bed, macking him. Then it was all a sweaty fight for getting their clothes off.

--

Jack slumped in his chair around the wide, round linen-swathed table watching his now relatives (read: Erin's family) drunkenly make asses of themselves on the dance floor. He yawned and leaned back in his chair. What was with people and having to live up to the drunken, Irish stereotype?

The wedding had gone on without a hitch. Erin flounced up the aisle in a hideous cream dress that would have made Little Bo Peep ralf and Jack had to try his best not to himself as he stood next to his father in this hideous cream tuxedo that Erin had picked out just to make him feel like shit.

"Well, it could have been worse?" Race tried to smile.

"Of course it could have," Jack replied tersely. "It can always be worse. But it was pretty fucking bad."

Spot gave him his version of a sympathetic look, which really only could be perceived as: suck it up, dick face. Jack slumped in his seat and crossed his arms, making it quite visible that he wasn't going to suck it up anytime soon. Then it happened.

"And now things are worse," he frowned. "You had to say it, Race."

Sure enough, Amelia was winding her way through the crowd towards their table in an erring on pornographic dress that Erin had picked out. Jack stood and left, trying to lose himself in the rowdy crowd. No such luck, he realized, when her hand clasped his besuited arm.

"Hello, Jack!" Amelia oozed. "Wasn't the wedding so sweet?"

"Diabetic," he deadpanned.

That was when Amelia decided that his meek response wasn't enough and she had to kiss him. For a second, Jack could've sworn that he felt bile rise in his throat. Angrily, he shoved her away.

"What is _wrong _with you?" he demanded.

"What?" Amelia twined a piece of hair around her finger. "You didn't like it?"

Jack shuddered. "No! We're related!"

"Only through marriage!"

He shook his head. "I don't care! Oh and, by the way, I'm _gay_. You know, I like _guys_."

"You're not gay," she insisted. "You're controversial."

"No, I like boys. BOYS!"

To prove his point, he grabbed the nearest guy who looked his age and started kissing him. If the guy was straight and pissed, Jack could probably take him. He didn't feel that strong under the suit. But, to his surprise, the guy started kissing him back. Jack glanced over his not-so-tall shoulder to see Amelia flouncing away, that tight stupid dress, showing a very unattractive panty-line.

He moved the guy to thank him for his cooperation but then he recognized who it was. A smile curled onto his face.

"Oh, hey Davey."


	41. Mush Got Molested!

Sarah rehearsed her words over and over in her head.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Morris asked from his position on the couch.

She nodded. "Yeah, how did your parents take it?"

He shrugged. "My dad gave me a dirty look but my mom was all gushing and happy. No surprise, she was a teenaged mother too."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She had me when she was fifteen and Oscar when she was seventeen."

She hadn't known that. Maybe she should have learned more about his family background before sleeping with him.

"Wait…if you and Oscar are two years apart, how is he only one grade behind you?"

"Because he's super smart and skipped fifth grade."

Oscar, who had come for moral support—or so he said, Sarah suspected that he didn't want Morris to out him to his parents and was keeping a close eye on him—rolled his eyes from the floor as he did his homework.

"No I didn't. Morris just got held back a year," he said into his Biology textbook.

"Fuck, I forgot you were here."

Oscar rolled his eyes again just as Esther came into the house.

"Oh, Sarah!" she said happily. "Thank goodness you're here. I got some new bolts for that pillow and…who is this?"

Sarah stood and nervously went over to her mother, wringing her hands.

"Mom, um, you know Morris, my boyfriend," she said uneasily.

She gave him an icy look. "Yes, I do believe we've met."

She gestured to Oscar. "That's his little brother, Oscar. Um…he's David's age."

She had no idea how that would help her case but she was stalling.

"Mama," Sarah reached out and awkwardly took her hand. "There's something I want to tell you. Um…I'm pregnant."

Esther started sobbing immediately, shrieking sobbing too.

"My baby's a whore!" she sobbed into her hands. "I knew we should have never moved to the city!"

Sarah reached out to pat her mother on the shoulder but she pushed her away.

"I need…to mull over this," she said, mustering as much dignity as she could after the freak out.

"Mom…"

She got no answer as Esther left the apartment without another word to her daughter.

"Wow," Oscar remarked, with a stupid smirk on his face. "That's bold television."

"Shut up, Oscar," she said tiredly.

--

David stomped through the doors to his apartment building Friday after the newspaper meeting. What was _wrong_ with Jack? He had been avoiding him ever since the kiss at the wedding reception where he had all but mauled him with his lips. With that and the whole make out on the way to Lake Placid thing, he was beginning to wonder if Jack had any grasp on the meaning of the word _friends_. He could only imagined how he treated Race and Spot.

Rubbing his temples and shifting his backpack on his shoulders, David stepped into the elevator.

"David, wait!"

He looked up to see Jack rushing into the elevator. When had he gotten here? The door closed before he could say anything. As it whooshed them up to David's floor, they stood in silence.

"That's a very nice hat," Jack remarked. "And I don't mean that in any high school kind of way."

Oh. My. God. David froze. He was quoting _Singles_. And he _knew_ that he was quoting _Singles_ because he wasn't even wearing a hat. It was his favorite scene too. It meant that Jack had watched it. Just to be safe, he sneezed.

"God bless you," he stated.

His heart hammered in his chest. Jack loved him. He loved him, loved him, loved him. He turned and gripped the lapels of his denim jacket before tilting his face up. Their lips met and there was almost a visible spark. Jack settled his hands on the small of his back and deepened the kiss. It was like the end of the movie. He could almost hear the character voiceovers at the end. They didn't even notice that the elevator dinged for his floor until they heard it.

"Oh, my God. David, what are you doing?"

Dreamily, he parted lips with Jack only to be grounded immediately. His mother, keys in hand, stood in the hallway in front of the elevator door. Oh, shit.

--

"Hey, is Alex here?" Mush asked cheerfully as Kendra opened the door.

She stuck her disheveled, wheat-blond head out the door and Mush feared that she was in paranoia mode. When Blink's mom was off her meds, it was a very dangerous thing. Actually, when she was _on_ her meds, it was a very scary thing but Mush always was polite to her and knew that it wasn't her fault because her husband died and her son went half-blind all in the same day.

"No," she said coyly and Mush knew that she had taken her pills that day. "But you can come in and wait for him."

"Okay."

He stepped into the freezing apartment and rubbing his bare shins. Kendra always kept the apartment just a little above freezing.

"Sit down," she chided. "Want anything to drink? Vodka? Rum?"

She seemed to have forgotten that Mush wasn't even seventeen yet. Any other boy would've jumped at that chance and downed a whole bottle. But Mush just smiled politely and shook his head, no. Kendra turned from the kitchen and made her way around ancient toys of Blink's that had never been thrown away. She sat on the arm of the couch, practically on top of him.

"Ms. Bennetson," he gulped. "Um, you know I'm dating your son, right?"

"So?" she purred, stroking his chest.

It almost made him wish that she _wasn't_ taking her medicine so she'd be frightened of him.

"M-Ms. Bennetson," he tried again.

--

Blink yawned and stretched as he pulled out the key to his apartment. Before he could slip it into the lock, the door flew open. Much to his surprise, a very frazzled Mush stood in the doorway.

"Mush?" he asked, surprised. "Hey, honey-honey…what's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Why? Why would anything be wrong? I, um, have to get ready for my game. Bye."

Blink cocked one blonde brow as his boyfriend shoved past him out of his own apartment and tore down the hall. Then he figured it out.

"Goddamnit, mom!" he yelled, storming into the living room. "What did you do to him?"

--

Swifty reached over Snitch's lap to grab his right hand with his own. It was T minus ten minutes until his dad got here. Speaking of which, who decided to make it 'T minus'? And since when do the words 'T minus' even make sense? Snitch shook his head. He was stalling and getting distracted.

There was a knock at the door.

Stupid ten minutes!

Swifty gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze as he rose and went to the door. Snitch opened the door to see…himself. Or, rather, himself in about fifteen years. Snitch liked to pretend that he looked like his mother but he knew that he was the spit and image of his father. Even though it pained him to say it. They had the same skin, eyes and dark curls. It angered him every day.

"…Nero?" he asked.

"Yeah," he managed. "Hi…"

"You don't have to call me dad," he said quickly. "Not after I left you guys like that."

Oh, so now he was pretending to be all apologetic for just _ditching_ them? Well, that was bullshit!

"What should I call you?" he asked, trying to keep his tone even.

"A weak, spineless asshole?"

And now he was taking his right to call him names the…weak, spineless asshole.

"You can come in," he said, moving to the side to allow his father entrance.

That was Swifty's cue to jump up from the couch and come up behind Snitch.

"Um, hi," he said, looking uneasy, which was a rare look for Swifty. "I'm—"

Snitch seized his hand. "My boyfriend."

His father didn't look surprise. He just nodded.

"Like father like son," he mused.

"What?" Snitch dropped Swifty's hand. "What does that mean?"

"Mayro, Mayro!" a voice called. A male voice.

He felt his jaw drop.

"This is why I had to leave you guys," his father explained and a handsome man in his mid-twenties joined them at the door.

"Oh, Mayro!" he cooed. "Is this your oldest? Aw, for cute!"

He exchanged a shocked look with Swifty. He and his father seemed to share more than eyes.

--

"Why, why, why!" Esther moaned. "What is wrong? This move ruined us! First, Sarah's pregnant and now my poor little Davey is…is…is…"

She dissolved into tears and David pretended to be shocked that his sister was pregnant. But it was hard. For one, his father was sitting in a kitchen chair, arms crossed and staring into space. Jack was seated next to him, silent for once.

"Mom…this isn't the first time," he said. "That I've kissed a guy. Jack and I were together since September."

He decided to leave out their four month break. They acted couple-y throughout that time anyway, much to David's chagrin.

This just caused Esther to break down into tears again. Blearily, she turned towards his father.

"Mayer, don't you have anything to say to your son?"

David glanced hopefully at his father, hoping for some reason or compassion but his mouth was set hard and thin.

"I have no son," he said bluntly before standing and leaving the table.

That wasn't his father. David shook his head in disbelief. His father was always understanding and calm. He never did this. And what about Les? He felt Jack's hand squeeze his knee under the table. It didn't do much but it somehow made things a little less shitty.

--

"What do you mean you don't want to come over?" Blink asked. "I thought we were gonna…you know."

"I have to practice," Mush insisted. "We have a game against Hearst high coming up and I don't want to screw up."

"What about after the game?"

There was a long pause on the other line.

"There's a special on Bigfoot on the History channel about mysteries."

Mush was a horrible liar.

"Sweetie, what's wrong? Tell me what's wrong."

There was a click followed by the dial tone.

--

"Bummers!" Pie Eater, who seldom raised his voice, shouted and rushed to his friend.

"Yes?" he turned.

Pie took a deep breath and leaned against the row of lockers. It was Monday morning and over a week since their kiss at the rave. It hadn't been discussed yet.

"About the kiss…I know you're all Goethe on this, your life, and I just want to know…"

Bumlets smiled a little and fingered one of the spikes on his collar.

"If it meant anything?" he asked. "Only if you wanted it to. Listen, I'm really confused in the guy department. I used to like Alex and then I liked…someone else…and then I became a social pariah after Bryon died. Now, I don't know. I just need time or something."

It was possibly the least pompous thing Bumlets had ever said. Pie nodded, understanding.

"Yeah…I mean, I don't know," he admitted. "I have no idea what to do in the romance department either. It's not like I've had a boyfriend recently…or at all."

Bumlets nodded. "So we're alright?"

"Definitely."

A smile crept back onto his face. "But can you believe that 'Fernando' was playing while we kissed? It was kind of coincidental, no?"

"Maybe it's a sign that we should wed."

"Later," his face was solemn. "Not now."

Pie nodded again. "Alright."


	42. Apple Essence?

Snitch sat across from his father and his supposed lover whose name he had yet to learn. Said lover was currently cooing over him and his 'my God, your eyes! Mayro, they're so yours!'

"Nero," his father said. "This is Peter. We've been dating for the past six years."

"What about the other six?" Snitch asked bluntly.

His father hung his head. "I guess I deserve that. Well, you know your mother and I kind of rushed to the altar seventeen years ago for personal reasons, as you know…"

Snitch cocked a brow. "Personal reasons?"

His father folded his hands on the table and cleared his throat. "Back when we got married…you see…your mother knew that I was gay. She was my best friend. But back then, it wasn't as accepted unless you were flamboyant. And, to prove to my parents that I was completely normal, your mother and I started to date. And we slept together."

He wrinkled his nose. The last thing he wanted to hear about was his parents' sex life.

"…And then, four months later, we got married," he said. "December, 1989."

Snitch hit his mental pause button and did the math.

"But…I was born March of…" his eyes widened. "You had to get married because of…me!"

Swifty stood up. "Um, maybe I should go."

He grabbed hold of his boyfriend and yanked him back down. "No, stay."

Swifty removed his hand from his. "Listen, Peter and I'll go in the bathroom. You guys can talk about this."

He gave him a small kiss on the lips before disappearing into the kitchen, Peter in his black leather pants followed him. What a walking stereotype. Shaking his head, Snitch turned back to his father and crossed his arms over his chest.

"You better tell me everything," he said forcefully.

--

Blink shuddered under the heavy cloak of his green sweatshirt. Central Park in April wasn't exactly his scene but he knew Mush had a game today and he had to find him. He had been acting weird ever since he had shown up to his house earlier. Blink figured that his mother had something to do with it. She was dangerous on or off her pills.

He knew that he should be more lenient since his best friend was on prescription meds as well but Skittery wasn't paranoid or oversexed like she got.

He could tell he was getting closer to the game as the cheers grew louder. They didn't have a designated soccer field so teams alternated in Central Park. Blink crested the hill and peeled off his sweatshirt, hating the heat. He dropped his sweatshirt onto the grass and plodded up the field. There was a good amount of people at the game. Blink was surprised; he didn't think that many people liked soccer at their school.

"Hey," Jake Mathers said to him and Blink wondered why he never got hot in that knit cap he always wore. "Come to support Mush?"

He nodded. "Yeah, something like that."

Sean Flannery licked his lips. "I just came to watch the players!"

Jake rolled his eyes and sulked on the grass; perhaps his cap bothered him more than first thought.

"You have excellent timing," Sean remarked. "Mush has the ball."

Blink turned to see his boyfriend chasing the ball up field and looking completely like his usual self. He kicked the ball hard to one of his teammates and it came right back to him. He went left and the goalie followed before Mush jerked right and hit the ball hard, sending it flying into the net.

He dropped to his knees and whipped his jersey off, swinging it above his head. Just about every male on the sidelines for Pulitzer—in addition to the small amount of girls—let out whoops of praise.

Apparently, the game was now over. Blink stepped into the field to congratulate and confront Mush.

"Hey!" he greeted happily, throwing his sweaty, shirtless form onto him. "Didja see me?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Hey, can we talk?"

Mush leaned back and bit his lip. "Um…later, okay? I gotta go. Team's going out for pizza."

Blink sighed. "It's important, hon."

Mush retrieved his jersey and pulled it over his head. He shook his sweaty curls.

"Later. Promise."

Blink seized his forearm as he tried to dart away.

"Now," he insisted. "You've been acting weird. I want to know if anything's happened."

He shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Then you can come over to my house?"

Mush shook his head. "No."

"Why not?"

He waved him away and tried to wriggle free. "I'm fine. Now lemme go."

Blink tightened his grip. "Not until you tell me what happened."

Mush glanced over his shoulder. "Someone's stealing your sweatshirt."

"I don't care," he said forcefully. "Tell me what happened!"

He sighed and Blink knew that he was successful.

"Blinky," he nibbled his lower lip. "I was waiting for you and your mom, she, uh, came onto me."

"That's it?" Blink hated himself for sounding so surprised.

He shook his head. "No. She also, um, stuck her hand down…"

He pointed to his soccer shorts.

"She _touched_ you!" Blink furrowed his brow. "Did you tell your parents?"

"No, I mean…it's just her disease. She can't help it but it was weird so I kinda didn't want to go to your house."

He hugged him. "Aww, sweetie."

Mush smiled. "So I'm going to go have pizza now. Later, honey-honey!"

He kissed Blink on the cheek and skipped away. He turned around and started back home, wanting to have a few words with his mother.

--

It was a very silent dinner at the Jacobs household that night. David had stood up and left in the middle after not being able to take 'dear, could you please ask David to pass the salt?' any longer and hadn't been heard from since. Sarah stared into her food, willing herself to eat, if not for her but for the baby she could feel inside of her. Les seemed to know something was wrong when David left and was keeping silent as well.

Then there was the knock.

"I'll get it," her mother said quietly, rising and going to the door.

Their apartment building didn't have the keys or intercom system, which led it to be pretty dangerous at night. She peeked through the peephole opened the door a little.

"Can I help you?" she asked in a pinched voice.

Sarah leaned back to see the person but couldn't.

"I wanna see the mother of my future grandchild if that's not a problem with you," a woman's accented voice stated coolly.

Esther opened the door completely and Sarah saw a woman with curly hair and dagger-like nails tapping her stiletto-heeled foot impatiently in the hall.

"_You're_ his mother?" her mother asked impetuously.

"Gotta problem with dat?" she asked, raising her drawn on eyebrows.

Sarah watched her father rise from the table and go into their bedroom. She stood herself and went over.

"Hi, Angela," she said sweetly.

"Darling!" she cooed, shoving Esther to the side and embracing her. "You know you can always move in with us, right?"

"Excuse me, Sarah's family supports her," her mother snapped.

An utter lie. She and David were lepers in their family. The prospect of moving in with Morris's family seemed almost inviting.

"Now from what I hear," Angela said, clicking her tongue.

"You're confiding in her?" her mother accused, glaring at Sarah.

"No!" she snapped. "I've been telling…oh, never mind!"

"Don't take that tone…"

Angela put a manicured hand on Esther's cardigan. "Sweetie, a baby is something to celebrate."

"Not at eighteen, it's not!"

"I had my sons when I was younger than her," she continued. "And they're completely fine."

"You mean the impregnator and the violent child? You don't think I did research on your family?"

"You did?" Sarah and Angela asked in unison.

Esther nodded. "Once I found out that you were carrying his…child."

Sarah felt her jaw fall southward. Of all the underhanded, sneaky things to do.

"Morris hasn't done anything," Angela said. "So I don't know why you want to break this up."

"Did you know that violence runs in the family?" Esther seethed. "I looked up your other son, Oliver or whatever. That kid is volatile. Like I'd want my grandchild maybe inheriting that!"

She wasn't making sense.

"Well that wouldn't happen," Angela snapped. "Oscar gets that from his father."

"They both have the same father!"

Angela laughed. "You really don't know?"

Sarah and Esther exchanged a confused look.

"What?"

"You really think I'd get knocked up twice in my apple-essence by the same guy?"

--

"What is wrong with you guys?" Skittery asked that night at his house. "You're all mopey."

David slumped on the couch. "I don't want to spend another night, watching some stupid movie Snitch likes."

Skittery expected Snitch to come out with a 'hey, _The Warriors_ is a classic' but he said nothing, just slumped further into the white, leathery depths of his couch. Blink sighed. He was currently upside-down with his legs resting against the back of the couch and his head lolling over the front of the cushion.

"What is everyone's damage?"

"My dad's gay and my parents' old marriage was a sham," Snitch deadpanned.

"Snitch, _you're_ gay," Skittery laughed.

"Mush got mauled by my mother," Blink intoned. "And she denies everything."

Skittery rolled his eyes but it reminded him that he needed to take his Valium.

"And Jack and I are back together but now my parents know I'm gay and hate me," David said dejectedly.

Skittery looked at his friends and started laughing. Like, hysterically laughing. He toppled to the ground and even felt himself roll around a little. It was role reversal. For once, his life and his relationships were normal and his friends were fucked up.

"I'm…s-s-sorry!" he managed before falling into a laughing fit again.


	43. Poison Was Right

Oscar quickly shoved his guitar to the side as his father rushed in. He didn't know why he had that immediate reaction because it was his father who gave him the instrument in the first place but the fact was that he was practicing a…he shook his head.

"Hey, papa," he greeted boredly.

Much to his surprise, his father held a bouquet of red roses. Oscar cocked a brow, wondering what his father had done.

"Oscar," he handed him the plastic wrapped bundle. "Take care of these. I have to pick your mother up from what'shername's place and then we're going to dinner."

Dinner? Roses? Jesus, did his father cheat on her or what?

Oscar stared down at the roses in his hand and then back up at his father in disbelief.

"What?"

"Oscar, you're not stupid," his father said, already making his way to their bedroom, undoubtedly for a change of clothes. "Set the roses up for me. Directions are hanging off the plastic."

He regarded the cardboard card hanging off of the rubber band securing the flowers together only for a moment.

"I don't get it," he remarked.

"Dude," Morris stuck his head out from their bedroom. "Even I know that! It's their anniversary you douche!"

Oscar frowned; he hated when his brother knew more than he did.

"Yeah," he snapped. "And you only know that 'cause you were alive when they got married!"

His brother came completely out of the room and smacked him in the back of the head. "Shut up."

Oscar smacked him back. "You shut up."

"Boys," their father said distractedly from the bedroom. "And Oscar, do those flowers!"

"Yeah," Morris cooed, squeezing him in the back of the neck with one hand. "Do the flowers. Bet you'd like that!"

God, he was an imbecile. Oscar turned around and punched him in the stomach. His father emerged from the bedroom at that moment in all of his guido glory in a crisp, black suit and lots of gold jewelry on his neck and fingers.

"Oscar Vincent DeLancey," he reprimanded. "You keep that temper of yours in check, young man. That is what's keeping you from a good college, young man. That record of yours."

He glared. "Yeah, assault me when Morris is the one who knocked someone up."

"At least I never threatened to take a jigsaw to anyone's head."

"At least I've never _slept_ with thirty-five girls!"

"Thirty-one!"

"Whatever, you're a nymphomaniac."

Morris glared. "I thought we agreed, you can't call me anything I can't spell."

"Then 'idiot' is out of the question, then?"

"Oscar," his father said in a warning tone. "Watch it, _capische_?"

"Whatever," he muttered.

"I mean it," he said. "And do those flowers. I want them waiting for her when we get back from dinner."

Oscar rolled his eyes. "_Sicuro_, papa."

"Bye," and in a cloud of cologne, their father was gone. Oscar wrinkled his nose at the smell. Thanks to his family's possession of everything that 'fell offa truck', he had his own supply of Drakkar Noir that—even when he thought he was straight—he liked. His father and his uncles all seemed to think that disgusting cologne was in.

"You better go do those flowers, twerp," Morris laughed.

"Whatever," Oscar mumbled again.

"And stop making fun of me," Morris slumped on the other side of the couch.

He dead-eyed him. "I've been making fun of you since I could talk and therefore talk back."

"Well stop making me feel dumb."

About seven million responses to that ran through his head but before he could vocalize any of them, Morris continued.

"Not if you don't want me to tell mom and dad about your little boyfriend."

The bouquet of roses fell to the floor along with Oscar's jaw. Was his brother actually being…shrewd?

"What?"

"You heard me. Stop calling me an imbecile, a moron, an idiot or any other big word that you think makes you special or I'll tell mom and dad that you're gay."

He was grinning maliciously and Oscar was tempted to pick up the roses and smack him in the face. Instead, he scooped them up and went to the kitchenette and began to slowly and calculatedly follow the directions.

--

David stared up at his looming apartment building, really not wanting to go inside.

"You gonna be alright?" Jack asked. "I mean, wanna come with me to Spot's? He and Race are going to be making out the whole time so it'll be fine."

David was tempted to go with him; he really was. He wanted to hop back in the van, trudge over to Brooklyn through the traffic and probably make out on Spot's floor while he and Race did the same on the bed. He wanted that. But he needed to face his parents. He needed to make them understand about himself.

"Or," Jack continued. "I could go up with you."

He hugged him tightly. Jack was insane and he probably had a lenient eating disorder since David had yet to see him eat an actual meal but he was still his boyfriend—how much joy it brought for him to say those words again—and he loved him.

"Okay," he said. "I mean, if you don't mind."

He smiled. "Mind? Why, I'd be tickled."

"Okay, never say that again."

Jack kissed the top of his head. "Deal."

Lacing his fingers through Jack's, David went into the apartment building only to find his mother, Sarah and woman he didn't recognize standing in the makeshift lobby, talking by the mailboxes.

"Mom?" he asked.

Esther took one look at her son's hand in that of another boy's and burst into tears again.

"Can we talk?" he glanced at the woman. "Or maybe this is a bad time."

"I was just leaving," the woman with the hair smelling of too much product and the big hoop earrings. "My husband is taking me out for our anniversary dinner."

She smiled and David noticed something familiar about her face. Then it dawned on him; cut off the hair, throw on a wife beater and a flannel shirt and this woman was Oscar! Of course! She had come down here about Sarah's baby.

"Okay," he said slowly. "This is Jack."

"Jack says hi," Jack said, grinning at her.

"So nice to see gay people so at ease in public," she mused as she click-clacked out the door.

Once she had gone, David faced his now sniffling mother. "Mom, we need to talk."

He gave Jack's hand a squeeze and raised his eyebrows in a signal for him to let go. He did and went to stand by Sarah. David led his mother over to the side.

"Listen, I know it's hard for you. Finding out about Sarah and me in the same day…but I'm happy," he smiled. "Isn't that why we moved to the city? Isn't that why we left Chester? Because Sarah and I were miserable? Because the kids in school hazed me and basically made my life a living hell? Mom, I have friends here and Jack is…amazing. You like Jack, remember? Please, mom, it's not the end of the world. I know it's hard for you that I won't grow up, marry a nice Jewish girl, and have lots of babies but I'm still fine. I'm better than fine."

His mother bit her lower lip and stared at him, not saying anything. David took this as a cue to continue.

"Mom, in the school I go to, two out of every three guys is gay. You don't have to worry about me getting the sh—crap beaten out of me or else about seven guys from my school would take anyone down. I'm happy mom and…that should be enough for you."

"David," she said quietly. "I just want you to be happy but are you sure?"

He nodded. "Yes, mom. And sure, dad probably won't accept me for a while but I can deal with it. You don't have to worry about me, mom. Sarah needs your help right now so don't worry. I've been managing since September."

Much to his surprise, his mother pulled him into a tearful hug. "My baby!"

Pressed firmly against his mother's chest to the point of not being able to breathe, David heard Jack snickering from his position on the other side of the room.

After what seemed like an eternity, she let up.

"Although I do wish you'd marry a nice Jewish girl…"

That was when Jack interjected. He came up and took David's hand.

"How about a nice Irish boy?" he offered, smiling a movie star grin.

And David just about wanted to jump for joy before tackling Jack to the ground and covering him with kisses but he figured that, when his mother was around, hand holding was all her heart could take.

"Mom, remember, you _like_ Jack?" David said, a pleading look in his eyes.

"Your father is very upset with you, David," she stated. "But if you're happy…"

"Mom, I love you!" he exclaimed and hugged her with his free arm.

"That's great, sweetie," she smiled a little. "Now I need to take your sister to that…_boy's_ place and have a serious discussion with them. You two going to be alright? Les is up there so, you know, don't do anything."

Her face turned red and David laughed.

"We won't," Jack promised. "'Sides, I wanna play Monopoly."

"Jack, you hate Monopoly," David reminded him.

He waved a hand. "Semantics."

"There's food in the fridge too."

"Not hungry," Jack said automatically. "But thanks."

David smiled thankfully at his mother again before pressing the _up_ button on the elevator. As he and Jack stood in the box, he felt his heart ascending with it.

"Well," Jack stated. "Where do we stand?"

"My dad still hates me as far as I know but my mom's fine with it."

"One down, one to go," Jack kissed his cheek. "And I'll be there."

David wrinkled his nose. "Call the schmaltz police, please."

--

Ten minutes and several cuts later, Oscar was sprawled out on the couch, talking to Skittery.

"So Poison's right," he said.

"What?"

"Every rose _does_ have a thorn," he looked at his bandage-covered hand. "A lot of them."

"I don't get it."

He rolled his eyes. Skittery was well versed in the realm of crappy movies and Billy Joel but he knew zilch about 80s hair metal ballads.

"I'll play it for you," he rolled his eyes again.

"I love how you can say that," Skittery cooed into the phone. "By super sexy guitar playing boyfriend."

"How many Valiums have you had today?"

There was no answer.

"Thought so."

"So," Skittery continued. "Why were you dealing with roses?"

He rolled his eyes for a third time. "Please, don't think I was plucking the petals to lay on your bed so I could ravish you or some shit. It's my parents' anniversary and my dad's shittastic at setting up flowers."

"That's a nice mental image."

He laughed as he noticed Morris bounding over to unlock the door to their apartment.

"Hold on," he told Skittery before looking up. "Someone buzzed?"

"Yeah, but you were too busy having phone sex with your _boyfriend_ to notice," he said venomously.

To his marginal surprise, Sarah and her mother stepped into the apartment.

"Ignore my brother," Morris said, hastily kissing Sarah's cheek. "He's talking to his boyfriend on the phone."

Oscar noticed Sarah's mother's cheeks go bright red at the mention of his sexuality.

"Hey, Skits," he said. "I'll call you back. I'm about to…I'm about to watch _All My Children_."

Smirking, he closed his phone. Suddenly, he wished he had popcorn. Morris shot him an angry look.

"What? You said to ignore me."

Satisfied that he had won, Oscar watched the drama unfold.

"Can we sit?" Sarah's mother gestured to the cluttered table.

"Listen," she said. "I just want to know, point-blank…are you planning on marrying my daughter?"

"Mom!"

"Uh…"

"You know," Oscar popped his head up from the couch. "As my brother's legal counsel, I don't think that an answer should be given at this time."

"Shut up, Oscar and go back to your phone call."

He stood up from the couch and sat at the table with them. "Listen, Mrs.…Mo, what's Sarah's last name again? Whatever, never mind. Listen, my brother is an idiot. But he wants to take care of this kid. But they're too young to get married. Thus, he should move into your place when the baby's born and help out. Or even after the school year. There. All settled? Great. I'm going to call someone now."

Pleased with his maturity, Oscar scooped his phone back up and disappeared into their room but keeping the door open so he could watch.

"The strange boy makes a good point," Mrs. Jacobs said. "And said in about fifteen seconds what would've taken us an hour. He in any honors classes?"

"Uh…"

"He does," Sarah said. "So…what do you think?"

Morris reached across the table and grabbed her hand. It was too sweet for words.

"Okay."

Oscar glanced at the phone still in his hand before closing the door.

"Hey," he said quickly into the phone. "Come over. My parents are out."

"Wellity, wellity," he could almost hear Skittery's smirk through the phone. "What's the occasion?"

"Because," he smiled a little. "Because I want to play something for you."

--

Skittery leaned back on the bed, panting. The room smelled like roses and sex. He had come just in time to see David's sister and her mother leaving and to see Oscar decimating the roses he had arranged for his dad. He had done something so very un-Oscar that he had to try and not jump his hot little bones the moment he had entered.

He had stripped off the petals and scattered them on his half of the room.

Then he had played him that one song he had been talking about earlier. Skittery had never heard it but it was hot. And then they had sex. He knew he'd have to leave soon, his parents would probably be home in a couple of hours, but it felt nice. This lying in bed with their arms around each other.

"This is un-you," he remarked. "Why'd you do this?"

Oscar shrugged. "Because I saw how fucking saccharine sweet my brother was being to Sarah and I…I dunno, I guess I wanted that."

Skittery's mind reeled, trying to find something non-corny to say but it was hard after lovemaking—which was what it was—on rose petals and being told that.

He settled on. "Thanks."

But that didn't seem enough.

"I—"

"Yeah, fucking love you too," Oscar stuck his tongue out at him but he was grinning.


	44. Some May Argue that it's a C

"Happy birthday, Jack!" Race exclaimed that Monday.

Jack gave him a confused look. "What?"

Spot slung his arm around Race's shoulders and smirked at him. "I believe he said 'happy birthday' pertaining to the fact that today is, in fact, your birthday."

Jack nearly kicked himself. Today was his birthday? How could he have forgotten? He _lived_ for his birthday. When he was younger, he'd march into the main room of his apartment and ask 'Is it my birthday yet?' starting from New Year's.

"And you're eighteen now," Race added. "So buy us porn and cigarettes."

"And lottery tickets," Spot chimed in. "And order a Ribbon Dancer off of an infomercial or something."

Jack laughed. "I forgot about it."

They exchanged a surprised look.

"You forgot?" Race was in disbelief. "Last year, you told me that expected me to remember to get you a big ass present or you'd but my dick off and now you've _forgotten_ your own birthday?"

He shrugged. "There was all of this drama with David's family this weekend and I had to help him cope."

He raised his eyebrows as he said the word 'cope' as if to imply that they had had loads of sex. They hadn't. Mostly, he just hung around David's apartment playing a mammoth paper football tournament with Les while David read _The Brothers Karamazov_.

"Ah, kosher kielbasa," Spot nodded his head. "Nice. Anyway—"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JACK!" an annoyingly perky voice pierced the air and Tina Hooper rushed towards their trio. "I got you a cupcake!"

She held up a massive cupcake, dripping with bright blue frosting with a plastic Texas flag sticking out of the top. Jack could feel the cavities forming already. Discreetly, he put a hand on his stomach.

"I wanted to get the New Mexico flag since you said that you liked that one city but I figured Texas is more cowboy-ish…and they didn't have it."

Tina handed him the cupcake before squealing off.

"She really wants in, doesn't she?" Race mused.

Jack handed the cupcake to them. "Here, you two lovebirds share it. I can't eat it."

Spot took the cupcake but cocked a brow.

"You don't eat a lot, do you Jack?"

"Why should I?" he asked boredly.

The look in Jack's eyes made Spot realize that it was time to change the subject. He handed the cupcake to Racetrack.

"Oh, Eva's going out of town with Damien and Cujo," he grinned. "Asked me to housesit. Meaning I have a week in a big-ass penthouse on Fifth Avenue all to myself. Or…"

He grabbed Race's hand.

"Your parents care?"

"Do they ever?" he asked, licking some of the frosting off of the cupcake.

Jack rolled his eyes at their couple-ness. Of course, it wasn't so sickening now that he and David were back together.

"Jack?" Spot offered. "Wanna come?"

It was like Mike and Carol Brady asking Alice to stay in when the kids were all at some inane talent contest in their matching spangled jumpsuits. Meaning, Spot and Race were going to do it and Jack would feel like a third wheel.

"No thanks," he said quickly. "I'm…going to stay home tonight. Or go to David's."

He shrugged.

"Aw, come on," Race insisted. "We'll throw you a party."

He licked more frosting off and Jack noted that his lips were starting to turn blue. Jack laughed and shook his head.

"I'm good. I'll leave you two to your own devices."

He waved to them and walked away.

--

Snitch was bursting with joy as he bounded up to his three best friends during free period. Strangely, in all the time they had been hanging out, this was the first time he was referring to them as his best friends.

"Did you have sugar today?" Blink asked, a wry smile playing on his lips.

"No," Snitch said. "Well, guess what?"

"You've been sneaking my Valium?" Skittery offered.

He rolled his eyes. "No. I confronted my mom about what my dad told me and guess what she did. She did what parents do when their kids start to hate them. She's taking us four to Bermuda over the summer. _Bermuda._"

David, Blink, and Skittery stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Aruba, Jamaica, ooh I wanna take ya," Snitch started singing to shake them out of their shocked silence. "to Bermuda, Bahamas—"

"Come on, pretty mama!" Blink joined in, grinning.

"Key Largo," David said, not sang. "Montego…"

"Baby why don't we go down to Cocomo?" they sang before Skittery silenced them.

He tapped his lower lip as though in reverie.

"You know," he said. "Isn't Kokomo a city in Indiana?"

Snitch shook his head. "No. That's _K_o_k_omo, with a 'k'. The Beach Boys have _C_o_c_omo, with a 'c'. Totally different things. Cocomo is most likely a made up island for the purpose of the song 'cause it's cool."

Blink shook his head in laughter. "Like we wanted a convoluted explanation."

"How about I convolute your face?"

--

"So Eva really trusts you, huh?" Race asked, taking in the amazing modern furniture in the apartment. He had never been in a penthouse.

Spot flopped onto the antique-looking leather chaise like he lived there. "Eva fucking _loves_ me because I guard Damien and Cujo."

Race cocked a brow. "You know, something tells me she wouldn't love you as much if she knew that you referred to her children as Damien and Cujo."

Spot got up off of the chaise and made his away around the low-slung coffee table to put his arms around him.

"Do you think she'll still love me if we have sex on her couch?" he smirked.

Race grinned back at him. "I don't know, you know her better than I do."

Spot ran his hands up and down Race's arms, kissing the curve of his neck.

"Well, we haven't had sex since we've been back together. I think it's only fair that we re-consummate our relationship. I think the Oriental rug is a good start. Then let's go on top of the baby grand piano in the den."

Spot didn't waste any other time noting where they were going to have sex. He pulled Race to him and started kissing him furiously. Their tongues pressed against each other, urgent. They stumbled into the sunken living room and fell onto the Oriental rug that was probably older than the actual apartment. Spot unhooked Race's belt.

"Mmm," he murmured, sliding the black leather around on his hands and teasing him. "I have schoolwork, Racey. Maybe we should hold off on this."

Race laughed, knowing that he was joking. "Fuck it, Spot."

He kissed him again. "Ooh, bad boy. You need to be punished."

"Oh yeah?"

Spot smirked and hit Race playfully in the butt with his belt.

"I like that," he muttered. "Do it again."

He complied, doing it a little harder this time. Race laughed a little before that was silenced when their mouths joined.

Then there was a cough behind them.

As if in slow motion, Race got up off of Spot and turned to see who was in the doorway. A boy in a tight mesh shirt and low-rise jeans was smirking at them. His dirty blonde hair was worn stylishly in his face, setting off his brilliant green eyes.

"Can I join?" he purred. "I'm a family friend."

Spot narrowed his eyes at him. Race froze up, his jaw hanging because standing in front of them was Eli Manic.

--

Snitch smiled as he placed the food around the table.

"You had the crab salad," he recited, handing it to the couture-clad woman with the chignon. "And you had the sirloin, sir, correct?"

The man nodded, smiling at him. Snitch humbly returned it before heading back to the front of the restaurant to bum around the hostess stand until his table needed him.

To his semi-surprise, Swifty was already there.

"Hey," he greeted. "You skiving off on your table?"

Swifty smirked at him. "I'll have you know that they're eating."

Snitch opened his mouth to shoot off a witticism when Rosalita, the Spanish waitress came bustling through. She was constantly in a hurry and tended to unnerve everyone who worked there because she had the habit of staring intently at someone while they were putting in an order. She also had man-hands but everyone was too nice to point that out.

"Oi they're so peeckee and bubbling cortex," she said with a laugh as she darted by.

Snitch laughed and nodded.

Swifty cocked a brow. "You have no idea what she said, do you?"

"Not a one."

Swifty tentatively put an arm around him, hoping that the patrons saw it as platonic. "You know, her accent is so thick, you could slice it and make sandwiches."

"Let's offer it on the menu."

Swifty laughed but a woman at his table was glaring at him. Reluctantly, he let go of Snitch and headed over there.

"How may I help you?" he asked perkily.

"I asked for dressing on the side of my salad," her words were razor sharp. "Not the apples. The apples are supposed to be _in_ the dressing."

"Can't you just put the apples in the dressing?"

"No, now there are too many apples. Take it back."

Swifty took the plate. "Oh, and young man, I want this for free."

He smiled thinly. "Sure thing, ma'am."

Now she was apparently getting mad at him. This woman had been trouble all night. First, she wouldn't sit where the hostess sat her. Then she complained about the lack of music—the satellite from the radio had gone down—and that the lights were too bright. And she ordered milk and wine. Not exactly rude but disgusting all the same.

"Don't take that tone with me, chink," she warned, lifting a manicured finger. "I know Stone Lee."

The derogatory comment in addition to her secondary comment made Swifty turn.

"Excuse me?" he asked, trying to keep the venom from out of his voice. "I don't recall him ever mentioning you to me."

"Well, I don't expect him to share the details of his social life with common workers."

He gripped the plate hard, watching his knuckles turn white and biting his lip. He tried to control his emotions.

"He does when they happen to be his son."

The woman could have looked stunned if her latest injection of Botox hadn't made her simply look confused.

"What?"

"Ben Lee," he smiled, offering his free hand. "I'll be sure to tell my father of the lovely named you just called our family."

The woman was dumbfounded. She refused his outstretched hand and Swifty tasted sweet victory.

"I'll take the salad back," she whispered meekly.

"Of course you will."

He placed it back on her table and sauntered away. Snitch gave him a little round of applause.

"This is why I really, super duper like you," he cooed.

Swifty smiled at him, his boyfriend.

"By the way," Snitch said suddenly. "Your father called the hostess stand. Wants to see you in the office about some cross country thing. About saying that you shouldn't run for the man or whatever. Called you by your full name."

Swifty paused. "He did?"

Snitch nodded, grinning maliciously. "I never knew your middle name was Daffodil."

--

"Does this make me jailbait?" David asked with a laugh.

"Evidently," Jack replied. "And I could go to prison. Although, you're seventeen now right?"

David nodded. "You missed my birthday."

Jack kissed up his collarbone. "We weren't together. Thus, it didn't count."

He pouted, still stewing. But inwardly, David was celebrating. He and Jack had just had sex for the first time since they were back together. It was exhilarating…and yet, he felt as though he were betraying his mother for breaking the no-fooling-around-with-boyfriend-when-only-Les-was-around rule she had set down when she agreed not to hate him anymore.

He looked into Jack's eyes. Meh, she'd get over it.


	45. Hospital is a Funny Word

Specs stared down at the paper in front of him. Cation, Anion? What were those? His hand shook and his head pounded. Electron configuration? When had they learned _that_? Wasn't chemistry supposed to most be labs? So many questions…he had never frozen on a test before. It was as though all of the information in his head leaked out of his ears with each pound from his sinus area.

He massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Come on, it was electron configuration! It was easy! And the teacher was letting them use the shortcut. He tugged on his hair. What was wrong with him? He usually breezed through this stuff. His hand shook as the bell to signal the end of Chemistry ended. But…he wasn't done! Specs lifted his glasses to rub his eyes. He had never not finished a test before. He reluctantly handed his test paper over to the teacher—a young man barely qualified to teach named Mr. Stampson—still shuddering from all of the blanks he left on the paper. Mechanically, he gathered his books and left the classroom.

"Hey, baby," Dutchy greeted him with an easy smile. Much to Specs's surprise, he looked completely sober.

"Hey," he replied tiredly.

Dutchy's face creased into a frown. "What's wrong?"

Specs didn't want to harbor him with his academic woes. Instead, he put an arm around him as they started down the hall.

"Where were you all day?" he changed the subject.

Dutchy shrugged from under his arm. "Infirmary. I got a 'mild concussion' from last night."

He used air quotes to exemplify the words 'mild concussion.'

"What happened?"

"I was running away from a cop and rammed into a light post. And I was all the fuck away in Washingtonville too."

Specs shook his head, sometimes wondering how Dutchy managed to stay alive. However, Pie Eater had intimated to him that while he was gone, Dutchy had been totally country club and entirely sober. He had a hard time picturing that.

"Why were you in Washingtonville?"

He shrugged. "Felt like it. But I'm school, ain't I?"

Specs rolled his eyes and winced from the still pounding feeling in his head. Dutchy nudged him with his hip.

"So what's your deal?" he asked. "You look all pained."

Specs used his free hand to rush through his hair and sighed.

"I have a killer headache," he admitted.

"Really?" Dutchy asked.

He nodded.

"Well, baby," he smiled. "I just so happen to have a cure-all for headaches!"

Despite the pounding in his head, Specs cast a dirty look at him.

"I'm not doing pot, _Jansen_," he stated firmly.

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever, dude."

--

"A quadruple date?" Jack asked with a laugh. "You serious, Davey?"

He shrugged. "It was Snitch's idea. He thinks that now that we all have boyfriends, we should all go out."

Jack shook his head and tightened the knot on his bandana. "To eat?"

David rolled his eyes. Jack had some aversion to eating. Erin was the cause, he knew, he just didn't know why Jack let it get to him so badly.

"Yes, Jack. Meaning food would be involved. Meaning you'd have to eat."

He wrinkled his nose, and David idly wondered if his nose ring hurt when he did that. He hated the way his mind wandered sometimes.

"But being in the same room with DeLancey? And that loser Ken Lee? No thanks."

He put an arm around Jack and nuzzled his neck slightly as if to say 'p-p-please?'

"Stop that," he laughed. "You'll ruin my resolve."

That was how David knew he had him.

--

Swifty slumped in his driver's seat, slipping into the leathery depths of the interior of his convertible. Why was Snitch suggesting this? Had he wronged him somehow?

"Are you serious?" he asked. "You want me to go with you and your friends and…Jack and Oscar. You are aware that neither of them care for me, right?"

Snitch rolled his eyes. "Swift, Jack's a nice guy and Oscar is too…sort of. Come on, it'll be for me. It'll be _fun_."

Yeah, about as fun as a root canal. Jack didn't deem him worthy of his presence (and never knew his name) and Oscar, well, Oscar wasn't high on his people-he-wanted-to-spend-his-precious-time-on-earth-with list.

"Mush already decided to go," Snitch added. "And so did Oscar and Jack. I don't want to go alone."

He looked at Swifty, his eyes large and pleading. God, there was no way he could say no to that face. He gave him a peck on the lips.

"Fine," he smiled. "I'll go. But I won't enjoy myself."

"You don't have to."

--

Pie gripped his hair and groaned. What was wrong with him? So he kissed Bumlets…so what? They had already discussed it. Bummers wanted to fly solo and he had no problem with that. And it wasn't like he harbored any secret lust towards him. It was just transference or something. Pie had never been with a guy—or anyone, for that matter—ever. So kissing Bumlets made him act like a lovesick girl. It made perfect sense. It didn't _mean_ anything.

Then why was he staring at him all day? Why did he love the way his now grown-in hair fell in his brown eyes that were so much like melted chocolate on his perfectly proportioned amber skinned face? Melted chocolate? Amber skinned? It sounded like he had a crush. He didn't. He was perfectly fine. He didn't like Bumlets. He was just overreacting to his first kiss.

Besides, he had always considered high school relationships beneath him. They just seemed so trite and doomed for failure. Honestly, how many high school relationships actually lasted? All were doomed in his eyes. From what he saw, maybe he was right to shun the whole practice.

"Earth to Pie," Dutchy's waving hand in front of his face startled him out of his reverie. "Dude, you were staring at your fruit pie like it was going to impart the mysteries of the universe."

He shook his head and took a bite instead of replying to his claim. It was just easier than saying anything.

--

Spot was pissed. No, he was beyond pissed and, strangely, it wasn't towards Race. After that whore-bag Eli Manic walked in on them, Race had admitted what he had done even though they both knew that Spot had either assumed it or seen it. Granted, Spot knew that he hadn't assumed but now had been confronted by the douche and had to have had a conversation with him. Other than the fact that he was a hot piece of Snatch, he was too egotistical for Spot to deal. He felt the urge to rip his throat out each time a word came from those perfectly full lips. He figured he'd want to even if the slut hadn't slept with his boyfriend.

"You're pissed at me," Race observed. "I knew it."

He shook his head. "No, I'm not. I'm pissed at Eli. Two different things. You broke it off with him, didn't you?"

He nodded. "Fuck yeah. And I only slept with him once. The time…after…I was trying to break it off and say that I had a boyfriend but he was all over me. I'm really not sure why."

Because he was a stupid fucking whore who would present himself to anyone with a pulse like a mandrill in heat. Do mandrills go through heat? Whatever.

"Because you're _pretty_," Spot said with exaggerated sarcasm. "Look, I'm not pissed at you. You haven't fucked him since and…I forgot where I was going with that. Regardless, I'm not pissed at you. Been there, done that, let's finally have sex."

He laughed. "My parents are out of town."

"You have parents?"

"Very funny."

Spot smirked. "Eva's still out of town. Let's go back to that Oriental rug."

Race grinned. "Like I could say no to _that_."

--

David sighed. The dinner was a bit tense. The boyfriends were barely holding their civility towards each other. Mush was the only one who was being nice but he was just genuinely nice and had no problem with anyone so that didn't really count. Oscar was the only other one making an effort, which surprised David. He suspected that Skittery had slipped him one of his meds to keep him sedated.

"So, Glenn," Jack was actually addressing Swifty.

"It's Ben."

"Like it matters."

David elbowed him in the stomach. God, Jack could sometimes be such an idiot.

"So," Blink said. "We should start small talk now, yes?"

But everyone was silent. David could see the wheels turning in Snitch and Skittery's heads as if they were trying desperately to think of something to say. Before anyone could utter a word, the music in the cheesy restaurant shifted to a Black Eyed Peas song. Everyone sat in silence, absorbing the words as if there was the meaning of life hidden behind the sexual innuendos.

"You know," Snitch said after a little while. "I don't care how lovely they are but…never call _anything_ your lumps."

There was laughter rippling through the table and David let out a breath. Maybe Snitch's comment, lame though it was, had somehow broken—or at least thinned—the ice.

"So Len," Jack started.

"Ben," Swifty corrected automatically.

"Again, like it matters."

And Jack opened his mouth and made things worse. David sighed.

"You know," he said. "I think I'm going to outside for some fresh air."

No one seemed to hear him.

David stood and left the restaurant, leaning against the outside wall. He let out a puff of air. God, why couldn't everyone just get along? Jack was acting strangely volatile towards Swifty. He vaguely remembered him calling him a loser a long time ago but was that any reason to blatantly be mean to him? Not that Swifty was trying very hard to be civil towards Jack, he noticed. And he was completely ignoring Oscar for some reason or another but David accepted that one. He would have ignored Oscar too, in fear of saying something to piss him off.

David was so deep in thought that he didn't notice the five guys swaggering from the restaurant until one called out to him.

"Hey, fag!" he sneered.

"Walk out on your _boyfriend_?" another crowed.

"Fucking fag!" a third laughed.

He had forgotten about orientation slurs. They didn't exist in his school. He had been in the rarified confines of Pulitzer High for too long. He had forgotten that, in the real world, he wasn't so easily accepted. Not that it was going to stop him. He was out to his family. His super sexy, could-probably-kick-all-of-their-asses boyfriend was waiting inside.

"You know, that's so original," he deadpanned.

One of them neared him and he regretted his words. His stupid mouth…which was just punched, he realized dimly as he fell to the sidewalk. Fists were everywhere, clocking him and pummeling him and banging his head on the concrete. He felt too dizzy to scream out.

What he hoped was spit was falling from his lip.

"Hey, fuckers!" he heard a voice cry out followed by the pound of boots on concrete.

David's attackers rose up and he stared dizzily at the sky, unable to move. The voice…it had sounded so familiar. Who had his savior been? He saw a flash of red plaid. Red plaid…red plaid…it clicked in his pained, throbbing mind.

_Oscar _was coming to his rescue! But where was—?

A flash of denim and Jack, his dear Jack, had joined the fight. Then David was engulfed by pink and found himself staring at an embroidered crocodile. Skittery…it was Skittery helping him up. Groggily, he turned towards his friends. The world stopped spinning now that he was upright and, thankfully, his vision wasn't blurred. Everyone else was gathered outside, watching the fight. Swifty looked anxious to join but it didn't look like Jack and Oscar needed any help. To David's surprise—which later, he might have chalked up to being assaulted and out of it—Mush looked angry. Genuinely, pissed off. Like he wanted to kill them.

"Fuckers!" Jack shouted, elbowing one guy in the stomach.

"Fag!" the kid spat. "Queen!"

Jack kneed him in the groin. David nearly giggled. His knight in shining armor. He hit his mental pause button. Okay, he had to be delusional. He felt his head loll back a little. Maybe he was sick…or dying.

"David," Skittery's voice, though he was right by him. "David? Guys. I think we need to take him to the hospital."

Hospital…that was a funny word.


	46. Improving the Truth with Jason Dean Hair

The buzzing of fluorescent lights, Jack decided, was the worse sound known to man. Each second that ticked by as he sat in the hospital waiting room was pure agony.

"You know," David's friend Snitch said. "You guys were awesome."

Jack shrugged and Oscar scowled, which wasn't a surprise. Oscar often scowled.

"Thanks," Jack said. "I just hope he's alright."

Snitch nodded.

"It's just…David isn't used to getting beaten up for being gay," he decided to omit the part with Conner that he knew he actually started. "He isn't used to fights period. And those guys, if I fucking see them again, I'll kill them."

To Jack, his words made absolutely no sense but David's friends all nodded.

"Hey, Jack?" Skittery asked before shaking his head. "Never mind."

Jack dead-eyed him. "What?"

He shrugged his LaCoste'd shoulders and leaned back in his nicotine yellow hospital waiting room chair. Jack shifted in his own. Damn, these things weren't designed for comfort. The cushions, such as they were, gave absolutely no give as he sat on it. It gave him the impression of sitting on a flat board.

"So, this was a good getting to know you thing," Snitch quipped.

"We could…" Mush shrugged. "still get to know each other."

"Yeah," Blink nodded. "For David's sake. I mean, I think we were kind of making him insane."

Jack shifted uncomfortably. "Why are you looking at _me_, Bennetson?"

He shrugged and turned to the others.

"Come on," he flashed the group this blinder of a grin.

"Okay!" Snitch look at Oscar. "When was your first time?"

"Snitch!" Skittery shouted.

The nurse at the reception desk gave him a dirty look.

"Why does everyone have to be sexual with you?" Skittery snapped. "Can't you ask him what his favorite movie is or something?"

Snitch rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and let out a heavily labored sigh.

"_Fine_. Oscar, what's your favorite movie? There, happy now?"

"_Heathers_," he said simply.

Skittery's eyes lit up. "That's mine too!"

Snitch began to laugh, earning their group another glare from the reception nurse.

"You guys are _just_ learning that? You two don't get a lot of talking done, do you?"

Both boys chose to ignore him.

"Fine then," he turned his attention towards Jack but was interrupted by the door opening.

"Hey guys."

Everyone turned to see the doctor leading David out into the waiting area. The damage wasn't that bad; his lip was split and his left eye was sporting one hell of a shiner but that was the extent, outside of some cuts and bruises. He was holding an ice bag to the back of his head with one hand.

"Hey," Blink said in a sunshine voice, trying to make him feel better. "We match."

David chuckled.

"He'll be fine," the doctor said. "Lucky you guys got there when you did."

Oscar shrugged but Jack rose and hugged him.

"Careful," the doctor warned. "He has a lot of bruises from the falling."

Jack didn't listen to him. He let up slightly and looked into his eyes.

"I will fucking kill those guys if I see them again," he promises, placing a delicate kiss on his split lips.

He saw the doctor shrink back a little out of the corner of his eye but ignored it.

"Come on," he announced, turning towards the others. "We're going."

--

Specs stared at the paper in front of him, wondering if he was going to cry, puke, or both. A big, bold F was bleeding on his paper, right next to his name. He had never gotten an F before. Not even on his piss poor, first grade Thanksgiving assignment where he and Dutchy went a little _too_ deep with the true meaning of the holiday—Mr. Palanski's fault, not theirs. But there it was, on his chemistry test. An F. Scribbled next to it, also bleeding in red, were the words 'you can do better.'

"You really can," Mr. Stampson said as he passed the test back to the girl next to him.

Specs massaged his head, willing his headache away. He wondered what was causing the chronic head pain. It couldn't be solely allergies; he took his pill every morning. He'd have to ask his grandmother to take him to the doctor this weekend.

"Can I use the bathroom?" he asked, feeling a lump in the back of his throat.

Mr. Stampson, usually priding himself upon being sarcastic and 'funny' towards his students, nodded his head and motioned to the wooden pass hanging on the wall. Specs snatched it and ran straight across the hall and into the bathroom.

To no surprise, Dutchy was in there.

"Aren't you supposed to be in French?"

"_Sommeil avec lui_," Dutchy blew him a kiss.

"Sleep with him?"

He shrugged. "My French book didn't have 'fuck' in it. So what happened? You look all ghosty-like."

He held his test that he had crumpled and brought with him up. Dutchy took it, glanced at the F, and knelt to the ground. Specs watched as he took a Ziploc baggy out of his backpack and pinched a good amount of pot into his hands before dumping it on the test. To his astonishment, Dutchy rolled the whole thing up, licked the side and sparked up. The makeshift joint was comically long sticking out of his mouth. He offered it to him.

"For your headaches," he stated.

Specs looked at his burning test paper that was starting to emit an earthy aroma. He bit his lip.

"I shouldn't," he said.

"You should. Stampson's a fucker for making you fail the test."

"He didn't—"

"You're a genius, Specs. One joint from said test paper that you didn't even deserve because it's beneath you doesn't change that. Now come on, it's _one joint_."

He paused. "Dutchy, this is reminding me of some _Lifetime_ movie or something. I'll become an addict and end up getting arrested for trying to sell one of my kidneys for a dime bag."

Dutchy laughed. "That doesn't happen, dude."

Specs started at the still smoldering paper, it was burning fast. He sighed and took a puff. Immediately, he began to cough.

"Dude, not so hard!"

Specs took a deep breath and tried again.

--

"You should grow your hair more," Skittery remarked, looking at Oscar. "Seriously, like sexy, Jason Dean style."

Oscar rolled his eyes. "You're too much."

He shrugged. "I'm stoned, what can I say?"

Oscar put an arm around him and used the free one to slam his locker shut. They started walking down the hallway.

"I think I like you better when you're depressing and cynical. Makes me feel more like I'm looking in a mirror."

"You're not depressing."

"Semantics."

Skittery laughed and leaned into him, finding the flannel comforting despite the hot day.

"What I like is now that you can put your arm around me without having fifty anxiety attacks."

Oscar didn't answer him. They walked in silence down the hall towards the door. They passed Jack and David who were deep in some conversation that involved lots of murmuring and touching.

"Oh, thanks," Skittery said. "For helping David."

He shrugged and tightened his hold on his shoulders. He judged, by this, that he was grateful for his appreciation for his heroic act of…heroics. They had been together, roughly, for seven months—albeit officially for about a month and a half—so he was pretty good at judging his body language.

They pushed through the double doors and made their way down the steps to where Skittery and Morris's cars waited for them.

"So," he started.

Oscar kissed him plaintively, almost nervous as though he forgot that they were out in the school. Skittery seized the front of his wife beater under his over shirt and deepened it. He felt his hands slide into his hair, tugging the curls slightly.

"Hey fucker! Get your tongue out of your boyfriend's mouth or I'm leaving you here!"

Skittery sighed inwardly, hating Morris at that moment despite the fact that he had kept his mouth shut.

"Later," Oscar said, heading towards the car.

"Grow your hair!" Skittery shouted after him.

He turned and smirked. "I'll think about it."

Meaning: Of course honey, I'd do anything for you.

--

"Okay, I'm an idiot," Racetrack remarked, staring at his arm.

Spot rolled his eyes, teasing his boyfriend's nipple piercing. "Of course you are. You cheated on me, remember?"

"Besides that," Race held his arm out to him. "Look."

All Spot saw was Race's name that Jack had tattooed on his arm. Race must've read his confused expression because he continued.

"Eli called me Racetrack the first time we…never mind. I wondered how he knew. Now I know he read my arm."

Spot shook his head, suppressing laughter.

"Spot…" Race ventured. "Do you ever…still think about Jack?"

Fuck, what a time to bring _that_ up.

"What?"

He paused, toying with Spot's sheets. He wrapped a stray thread around his finger until it turned purple. Then he slowly unwound it.

"Do you still think about Jack? I mean, you had it pretty bad for him."

Spot chewed the inside of his lip. Touchy subject.

"Jack's my best friend…"

"So was I."

_Touché._

He scraped his teeth over his tongue in nervousness. It wasn't that he still didn't want to bang Jack—although, admittedly, there was a small part of him that still wondered what it would be like—but it seemed strange to say something like that post-coital. What could he say? _No, I'm no longer actively pursuing Jack but I wouldn't say 'no' to him?_

"No," he said. "I don't."

It wasn't exactly lying, he could remember Jack saying when they were little and trying to get out of time-out, it was just improving the truth.


	47. Steve Holt!

"I don't believe. I do not believe it," Skittery paused. "Actually, I kind of do. Any guy who talks so much about sex _must_ still be a virgin."

Snitch gave him a dirty look. "I shouldn't have told you."

Skittery held his hands up and leaned against the bay of lockers. They were currently between their first and fourth period exams, marking the beginning of finals and the beginning of the last week of school.

"Is Swifty?"

He opened his mouth to say something but promptly closed it. Skittery raised his eyebrows in question.

"Well?"

"I don't know…I think he is. I mean, he hasn't been pressuring me."

"You've made out all of once, Snitch. You barely kiss from what I've seen."

He crossed his arms against Free Willy on his t-shirt—worn, of course, for _Orca_ and not the heartwarming film—and pulled a face. He really wasn't in the mood to discuss his sex life, or lack thereof, with Skittery.

"You know," he snapped. "Just because you're fucking the Psycho from Sicily, doesn't mean that everyone has to have sex, Skits."

The shrill ring of the bell cut Skittery off before he could make a scathing rebuttal, which he most definitely was judging by the murderous look on his face, and the students began to file back into their homerooms for the last test for that day. Snitch headed down the hall because R—for Rizzio—was hell of far away. Skittery trudged off to where the N—for Newcomb—kids were filing in robotically. Snitch noted that everyone was marching in single file, all staring ahead, bodies on autopilot.

"We don't need no education," he sang under his breath in a faux British accent.

--

Snoddy stretched luxuriously in the sun, allowing his t-shirt to ride up and show inches of bare midriff. Jake glanced away, telling himself that the gap between his best friend's shirt and jeans did _not_ make him happy in the nether regions. Instead, he turned to Swifty who was pulling his care keys out of the pocket of his track jacket.

"Are you giving us a ride or are you taking your _boyfriend_?"

He gave him a dirty look that Jake fielded by sticking his tongue out.

"I'm taking Nero home," he said.

"For some boom-boom?" Snoddy smiled.

Swifty ignored him and made his way down the steps towards his convertible. Jake bit his lip and looked at Snoddy. How long had passed since their near encounter in his bed? It had been before Swifty had even started dating Nero hadn't it? Was Snoddy pissed that he wasn't acting on it again? Or had his 'eww, it's like having sex with a teddy bear' line holding truth?

"Ready to walk?" Jake asked brightly.

Snoddy shrugged and they started down the steps.

"I don't want to go home," he said after a while. "Can we go to your place, Jake?"

He shrugged and plopped down on top of the metal banister, feeling the heat through the denim of his pants leg as he slid down. He looked at Snoddy properly in the sunshine. He looked like a little boy in size nine, girls' jeans. His family really hated him, he knew.

"Do you have to ask?" he grinned. "Come on."

He put his arm around him, waiting for the cry of 'um, let's not' but it never came. They matched their steps like they had when they were little and laughed as they made their way down the street.

--

"It looks all valiant and brave, David," Jack assured him.

"Great, because I got it from getting the crap beaten out of me."

Jack laughed and kissed him on the cheek as they stepped from the elevator into David's hallway.

"You know, everyone else I know lives in a walk-up you little richie," he remarked. "So what'd your parents say?

David pulled his key out and shrugged.

"Mom had fifty heart attacks and my dad just shook his head disapprovingly," he sighed.

"I know how to cheer you up!" Jack singsonged, putting his arms around his waist and kissing his neck.

David squirmed deliciously in his arms but then they both froze. When he slid the key in the lock, a flurry of barking had filled the air. Carefully, he inched the door open and something small and furry jumped from the apartment, knocking them both to the ground. David lay on the floor, still in pain from his beating but Jack stood, taking in the border collie puppy that stood, wagging his tail in front of him.

"Hey guys!" Les exclaimed happily form the doorway. "You guys met Liberace!"

David struggled to his feet. "Liberace?"

He shrugged. "Sarah's idea. She said he wasn't going to live long enough to hate the name anyway."

"Bitch swings," Jack explained. "She's going to have to go to her graduation preggers."

Les gave them a confused look before scooping up Liberace—poor thing didn't stand a chance—and going back inside. Jack figured he'd go much in the same way as Rabbit Downey Jr.

Putting his arm around David, they walked into the apartment to see Sarah sitting on the couch, crying. David wandered off to go take a nap and try to ease his pain while Jack plopped next to Sarah, wondering what kind of sad movie she was watching. He remembered his mother used to rent sad movies so she could cry, as she told him. Sarah, however, was weeping over _Weekend at Bernie's_.

"This movie makes me cry too," he remarked dryly.

She gave him a tearfully dirty look. "Shut up, Jack. I have to show up in a stupid gown and cap tonight with someone in me!"

She wasn't really making sense but he got the gist of it.

"Uh…there, there?" he patted her shoulder ineffectually. "We'll all be there."

That just made her cry harder. Jack pointed to the screen.

"Hey look! Bernie's waterskiing!"

And, somehow, made her burst into a fresh wave of sobs.

--

"Snitch, what the fuck are you doing here?" Blink asked tiredly. "You know I don't like having people over."

Snitch tapped his foot worriedly on the matted carpet of the hall. "We need to talk."

"No, you need to leave."

He wasn't having any of this and pushed past his friend and into the small, cluttered apartment.

"I'm so fucked!" he moaned. "Swifty took me home, right?"

"Snitch, could you leave?"

He held up a hand. "Let me finish."

Taking a deep breath, he continued. "And he…we…almost…I can't do it!"

Blink cocked a brow. "What?"

Snitch flopped onto the couch and rushed his fingers through his hair.

"I can't do it!" he bemoaned. "Swifty made it seem like he wanted to…you know, fuck, and…I couldn't! I froze up!"

"Where were you?" he sat next to him on the arm of the couch.

"His car. I ran here after I freaked out and dashed off like a loser!"

Blink sighed; he was really not in the mood to deal with this. This was also horribly the wrong time since he was otherwise preoccupied.

"Snitch…couldn't you have called?"

He sat up, glaring. "My life hangs in the balance here and all you can say is why haven't I called? Some best friend you are!"

"One, your life does not hang in the balance and two, ever think that I could be in the middle of something when you showed up ranting and raving about how you're a freaked out verbal nympho who can't have sex?"

Snitch stared at him, his mouth opening and closing like some mentally retarded goldfish, his blue eyes large in his head.

"Blinky?" Mush stepped from his bedroom with his boxers on. "You alright out there?"

The goldfish look turned into a scowl. "Damn it! Everyone is getting some but me!"

Snitch stood and started to storm away, the sound of his stomping feet being muffled by the gray carpet. The slam, however, was not. Mush came around the couch and put his arms around Blink's shoulders.

"You know," he said. "I think Snitch is the reincarnation of Zohar."

Blink gave him a weird look. "Who?"

"Well, he's celibate—"

"Being celibate and a virgin are two different things."

"—and he got possessed at the séance. I think he's Zohar reincarnated!"

"Who's Zohar?"

Blink's answer was Mush holding up his left arm to show him the thin red bracelet on his wrist. It was more of a thread, really.

"I don't get it."

Mush just giggled and kissed him. "I'll explain later."

--

"That boy is not coming with us, Esther."

"That boy is David's boyfriend and he cares a lot about him."

"I don't like him."

"You used to."

"That was before I found out he had converted our son!"

Jack listened from David's room and rolled his eyes. His father made it sound like he had inducted him into a cult.

"Is he even Jewish? He doesn't look Jewish."

"He's Irish, he said."

"_Irish_! They're drunks! That means he's Catholic. I don't want our son consorting with someone whose religion hosts people who molest little boys!"

"I don't think he's practicing."

David rolled his eyes and tightened his tie in the mirror. "Sorry about my parents."

Jack shrugged. "Whatever."

David buttoned the rest of his shirt and fixed his blue tie again. They were getting ready for Sarah's graduation, which required suits. Jack, however, didn't do suits. Ever. Plus, now, every suit he looked at reminded him of the shitty cream one he had to wear at his father's wedding. All the more reason to avoid them. Instead, he wore a t-shirt with a blazer over it and black slacks.

"You should put a tie on," David advised. "I have some in my closet."

"Nah," he tightened his bandana. "This is fine."

He neared David and put his arms around him, kissing his cheek. "We look good together."

He jostled him lightly. "Don't go sappy on me, Kelly."

Jack pressed his lips on his temple before separating and opening the door.

"I don't like him!" the argument was still going on.

"Well, that's too bad!"

They noticed Jack step in and immediately closed their mouths. Esther smiled at him.

"Hello, Jack. You boys ready to go?"

He nodded but before he could verbalize the affirmation, Mayer cut in.

"What's that in your nose, _Jack_?" he placed his hand defensively over his nose ring and made a mental note not to wear it around David's father.

"I think it's awesome!" Les proclaimed, stepping out of the room behind David and cradling Liberace in his besuited arms. "And Jack looks like a rock star, doesn't he?"

No one answered him and an uncomfortable silence settled amongst those standing in the living room. Finally, Liberace broke it by yipping and leaping from Les's arms. Esther looked at him and gasped.

"Lester Ezekiel Jacobs! Look at all that dog hair on you. Come here."

She grabbed her youngest child and yanked him into the kitchen to de-hair him with the roll-on lint remover. Sarah shuffled into the living room in her graduation gown and sniffling.

"I look awful!" she bemoaned. "Why can't we wait until we get to school to wear these?"

Before she could burst into tears once more, Jack put a comforting arm around her.

"Hey, you make the stupid thing look awesome, babe," he assured her. "Now stop crying and kick the ass of everyone else there."

It may have been a trick of his mind but Jack could have sworn that he saw Mayer smile at him.

--

"She looked so beautiful up there, didn't she?" David asked, leaning against Jack in the restaurant.

"Yeah," he murmured. "And next year, that'll be us."

It was the only time they had gotten to touch each other since leaving. His father had excused himself to the restroom so he could finally hold Jack's hand without worrying about disapproving stares.

"I agree!" Morris proclaimed. "Babe was hot!"

Sarah smiled up at him, the first smile David had seen his sister make all night. They were in one of Stone Lee's many restaurants to celebrate the graduation. Their party had been pretty large: The Jacobs plus Jack and then the DeLanceys since Morris was now going to be—gag—living with them.

"You know," David remarked. "My friend is dating Stone Lee's son."

Esther smiled at his attempt to make conversation. "Oh, she is?"

Oh, shit, he realized. He had said the wrong thing. "It's a 'he.'"

"And this 'he' is totally your waiter!" a familiar voice exclaimed.

They party looked to see Snitch grinning at them with his hands on his hips.

"Snitch!" David exclaimed excitedly. "I forgot you worked here."

He fake pouted, jutting his lower lip out. "Aww, now I'm offended."

David smirked at him and Snitch stuck his tongue out before regaining his composure as the perfect little waiter.

"What would you like to drink?"

Esther put a hand on his sleeve. "Do you mind waiting for my husband to return?"

"Not at all," he turned to go before doubling back. "Oh, and David, Seiks's exams is super easy."

"He seems nice," Esther said. "Do you spend a lot of time with him?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"You know," Morris said. "That kid and David is friends with this other kid everyone calls Skittery. Funny story about that…ow!"

He glared at Oscar who must've kicked him under the table.

"Yeah, funny story," Jack said, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, Sarah, how do you feel?"

She shrugged. "I don't know…mom…have we ever thought about adoption?"

David sighed. _There _was a topic to break this party up fast.

"I wouldn't advise it," Jack cut in. "I mean, your kid could come to you years later and you wouldn't know. He'd also have a penchant for thrusting his arms above his head and saying his name."

The rest of the table gave Jack a confused look. David glanced up at his boyfriend, wondering what the hell he was smoking. He read their baffled expressions and fielded it by lifting his arms, bending them at the elbows and giving them a jerk in the air.

"Steve Holt!"


	48. Suddenly Last Summer

**A/N: **In regards to the Steve Holt thing (everyone has asked about this): Steve Holt is from the television show _Arrested Development_ (watch it if you haven't. It's amazing). He's GOB's illegitimate son who introduces himself by thrusting his hands and saying his name. Hope that clears things up a little. And now, summer. DAMY-style.

--

Jack crumpled his report card into his hand and stuffed the balled up wad of paper into his backpack.

"Cowboy!" Race tackled him from behind, sticking his fist into the air. "We are officially seniors!"

He noticed the disgruntled look on his friend's face and hopped down, cocking a brow.

"That bad, huh?"

Jack slammed his locker shut. "Let's just say I'm going to be a senior…and leave it at that."

"I take it no AP's for you next year?"

He nodded. "I flunked the AP test but I'm not even going to college."

Race gave him an incredulous look. "Wait, does David, early-Berkeley-enrollment know this?"

He shoved him. "No and you're not going to tell him."

Race rolled his eyes and they started down the hall. Jack slunk through the door and into the sunshine, feeling the nice—if polluted—weather to be mocking to his melancholy disposition. The mediocre grades, however, weren't part of it. He had been planning a summer of hot sex with David but he had left right after his last exam to go to fucking Bermuda with his friends. So he'd be stuck in his lame ass apartment for two months with Erin constantly calling him fat and his dad doing nothing to stop her. It was going to be fan-fucking-tabulous.

"Later, Jack," Race called. "I'm off to bang Spot."

He forced a smile. "Have fun with that."

Jack got into his van and edge out into the traffic, already waiting for the school year to begin again.

--

Skittery never liked airplanes, ever. And if Snitch made one more fucking _Snakes on a Plane _reference, he was going to punch him in the face. Also, the annoying twit was hogging the laptop so he could talk to _Swifty_.

"I say let him keep it," Blink said grumpily. "I don't want to talk to Mush right now. He's freaking me out. Uncovering the mysteries of Kabbalah and all that."

David laughed. "And I'm the one that's Jewish."

"When did Mush join Kabbalah?" Snitch didn't even glance up from the computer screen.

"When he figured out that you were Zohar reincarnated," Blink slumped in his seat.

This time, Snitch glanced up. "What?"

"Because of the séance, he thinks that you're the reincarnation of Zohar. Prepare to be worshipped by him."

Snitch drummed his fingers over the keyboard and cast a desperate look at his mother who just shook her head and laughed at them.

"Are you guys ever going to tell me what happened at the séance?"

David, Blink, and Skittery all glanced at one another.

"No," they said in unison.

"Assholes," he muttered before shutting down the laptop as the four of them prepared for their descent into Bermuda.

--

Pie Eater shook his head, trying to free the fog. Dutchy had been smoking heavily since school had ended and he felt himself getting high off of the secondhand smoke. Plus, the pot was obviously influencing his hormones in the wrong way. That had to be it. He wouldn't be looking at Bumlets like that normally. He had to make a mental note to murder Dutchy or at least cut off his supply of pot. He had a suspicion that the latter led to the former in a way.

"God, that stuff is rank," Specs announced.

"Hey, didn't stop you from trying it!" Dutchy proclaimed, grinning.

Pie exchanged a look with Bumlets and they both rolled their eyes. The Judas Priest t-shirt he was wearing, he noted, curved to the contour of his body, showing off his chest and…stop it. He was not attracted to him. Even if he was—which he wasn't—he had specifically said that he wanted to fly solo.

"Yo, Pie!" Dutchy prodded him with his sneaker. "You alright? You're getting all spacey."

He waved him away. "Yeah, peachy."

--

"You really think that I want to do this?" Oscar asked in a pissed off voice. "This is cruel and unusual punishment."

"Oscar," he mother straightened the collar of his shirt much like she had when he was eight years old. "Staying with your Uncle Nino isn't cruel _or_ unusual."

"Yeah…but Luca," he snapped. "That kid is a—"

She ruffled his hair and put a manicured hand over his mouth to shut him up. This was something else she had not done since he was eight. At this rate, she was expecting him to throw another tantrum so she could blare Journey when he was little and tantrum-prone. She lifted her hand.

"Be good and watch your mouth," she kissed his cheek, no doubt leaving a bright red lipstick mark. "And your temper," she added as an afterthought.

Then she all but pushed him into the taxi.

--

Jack rubbed his eye that had started to water for some reason or another; probably due to dust in the air. He slumped down on the couch and lifted his ass to pull his boxers out from where they had been wedged.

Yawning, he stretched and padded out of the living room. It had been a month since summer started and he had yet to do anything. Anything exciting anyway. He wanted David to be back so he could tackle him and then take into the bedroom for hot, steamy sex. He shuffled into his bedroom and plopped down on the bed. Okay, not much of a change.

Jack reached into his nightstand for his pack of cigarettes—finally bought legally—and instead his fingers came in contact with something bumpy. Curious, he sat up and looked into the drawer. It looked like a sketchbook of some kind. He pulled it out and examined it. It had a bumpy, black cover and was tied with a satin ribbon. He pulled at the ribbon and it came undone.

"What the hell?" he muttered, opening the book.

To his surprise, there were no pictures, just words. Poems written in what looked to be calligraphy pen. All over. Not just up and down, left to right but in swirls of words. Jack had to tilt the book to view some of them properly. He flipped the page and paused. There was only one poem on the page. There were words like 'hair like liquid bronze' and 'eyes that could stare into your soul' and stuff like that. His hands started to trembled when he read the last line:

_Dearest Francis. No matter where I am, I am always loving you._

The poem was about him. And the poem was by his mother. He remembered his mother writing poetry and reading it to him. He had never understood but it but he had liked to listen. But how did one of her poetry books end up in his nightstand?

"I see you found it," a voice from the doorway.

Jack glanced up to see his father leaning in the doorway. Immediately, he shoved the book back in his drawer and crossed his arms.

"Yeah."

"I found it the other day. Thought you might want it."

"Yeah."

This was, Jack noted, the most conversation he had had with his father since he found out about his long string of lies.

"You wanna talk about it? I mean, it's been ten years."

"Nine," Jack corrected. "Not that I knew about it for eight of those years."

His father stepped into the room and shrugged. "I didn't think you were old enough to understand about suicide, Frankie."

"Well, apparently, I was older than I had thought."

"Why do you do that? Why do you get so defensive?"

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He slumped on the bed. He wasn't in the mood to have a so-called heart-to-heart. He dropped his arms.

"Because you've lied to me and never pay attention to me," he snapped. "I believe it's quite evident why we don't get along, _dad_."

His father gave him a pitiful look and Jack realized for the first time how alike they looked. He remembered seeing that same look on his face after David dumped him. He wasn't going to tell him that.

"You let Erin rip into me every day and you do nothing to stop it," he continued. "You never give me the necessities. I have to buy all of my clothes on my own. You don't care what I do! I mean, it'd be nice that after I disappeared for the weekend that one time, you would have at least where I was. No, you treat me like…"

He trailed off, putting the reins on his temper.

"Frankie, I didn't know you felt that way," his father put an awkward hand on his shoulder. "It's not like you tell me anything. You just close yourself up or go out with your friends to God knows where."

"Then maybe you should ask me where I'm going," he snapped, shoving his hand away.

His father stood and went to leave but then turned to him.

"She always loved you best," he said in a defeated voice. "You were all she really cared about."

"That another lie?" he asked, cocking a brow.

He just shook his head and closed the door behind him. Jack flopped back on his bed, letting out a labored sigh. He reached back into the drawer for the book. There had always been something forbidden about his mother's poetry. Some almost magic, or so he had thought when he was little. Maybe giving him the book was a way to somehow make peace with him. He snorted. Yeah, right. And he was Mary Queen of Scots.

--

"The food there sucked," Snitch remarked. "Coleslaw and French fries, yum."

The others nodded their agreement.

"Try having seventeen calls today asking if any ships disappeared into the Triangle," Blink massaged his temples. "I worry about him sometimes."

Skittery stretched as they stepped out of JFK. "At least we're home."

Once again, the others nodded their agreement. David sighed. He supposed spending almost two months in a tropical paradise was nice but he had rarely enjoyed himself. He couldn't go to the beach—he only burned and blistered in the sun—and he had almost drowned while snorkeling. Overall, not his impression of a summer of fun. However, he was in the mood for some summer loving. He had been away from Jack for too long.

"Hey," Snitch said. "Let's go back to my house and watch _Suddenly Last Summer_. One guy gets eaten by orphans!"

Blink and Skittery pulled faces but ultimately agreed. David, however, shook his head.

"I should get home. Hey, Snitch. When your mom gets back. Tell her thanks."

He headed down to hail a cab to whisk him home.

--

"I'm a moose!" Sarah proclaimed. "A big, fat moose!"

"You are not!" Les chided. "And Liberace thinks so too!"

The dog yipped in supposed agreement. Sarah, though, had none of that. She felt huge. She was craving Chinese food and her feet hurt and she was starting to show. It was horrible. She had to tote around this thing for another four months. She didn't know how she was going to manage.

"Well," David, who had arrived back from Bermuda just as pale as he had been when he had left, remarked. "It could be worse."

She gave him a tearful look. "How could it be worse?"

"It could be my baby."

--

**A/N: **I decided to condense summer into one, long chapter rather than span it because summer doesn't really matter in the long run. For the hijinks the others got up to, well, those will be revealed later on. C:


	49. Def Jack Poetry

Ronnie Ganz's palms sweated as he crested the top of the steps and stared into the big glass doors of Joseph Pulitzer High School. He had heard the rumors—who hadn't?—about the school and wondered to know if they were true.

His fears were confirmed the moment he stepped inside to see a boy press another boy against a bay of lockers and start kissing him. Ronnie felt his jaw fall southward.

"Jack," the boy against the lockers complained. "You could've given me a concussion."

The other boy—Jack, apparently—grinned at him. That was when he noticed Ronnie.

"Crutchy!" he exclaimed gaily. "Dude, I forgot you were frosh this year."

He looked at the boy grinning at him and realized that it was Francis, the sixth grader who had given him the nickname Crutchy. He had snapped his Achilles tendon and had to be crutch-bound for months. It had been a drag getting from recess to class but he got chosen to be Tiny Tim in the school's production of _A Christmas Carol_.

Crutchy smiled at Francis—Jack?—and walked away from them. As soon as he was past them, boy-against-lockers started chewing him out about something with his schedule. He just kept walking to get to the office and obtain his "senior buddy" to show him the ropes for the first month or so. Great, some full of themselves senior was going to show him around.

Just peachy.

He neared the office to find a preppy boy in a pink LaCoste t-shirt and distressed jeans listening to an iPod. Crutchy cleared his throat but got no answer.

"In the heat of the night, we are having a fiesta," he sang. "We'll dance until siesta when the sun comes to life…"

Crutchy turned his throat clearing into a hacking cough. The boy glanced up and tore his headphones from his ears.

"You the frosh I'm supposed to show around, right?" he smiled and tucked the iPod into his backpack before rising to his feet and sticking his hand out. "I'm Michael Newcomb. Uh, call me Skittery."

Crutchy took his hand and tried to return his smile.

--

Spot slumped in his seat in Denton's class by Jack who—much to David's chagrin—passed up AP in favor of taking regular classes. Apparently, he hadn't broken the news of his non-attending college-ness to David because the two were going hot and heavy that morning.

"Alright," Denton said easily. "While I'm taking attendance, I want you all to write a poem. Why? Because it'll keep you quiet and occupied."

He smiled at the students who chortled mildly to his joke before going to work at the laptop on the cluttered desk to log in those in attendance. Spot turned to voice his disdain to Jack but found him scribbling on a piece of paper.

He turned to his left and only saw Specs. Great. He was stranded because Jack—who was looking hotter this year, not that he noticed—was _working_. Like he'd talk to that bookworm Goldstein.

Five minutes later, Spot had yet to write anything and Denton jokingly asked if anyone wanted to read their poem. Jack's hand shot straight up.

"Mr. Kelly?" he cocked a brow. "I see you made your name legal now."

Jack stood and smiled. "Yeah, I did."

He all but skipped to the front of the classroom.

"This is a poem," he started. "About nature and all that you find there."

Denton rolled his eyes a little. "Get on with it, Jack."

"Okay," he cleared his throat dramatically before beginning his reading. "I went for a walk in fresh air. I found the weather to be fair. The wind ruffled my hair. I happened across a bear. But I found I just didn't care…so I shot that bitch in the face!"

--

"Wow, Blink," David said in deadpan. "You had to go all summer without stealing the cucumber off of my salad. However did you manage?"

"You were there most of the duration," the blonde fielded demurely. "And besides, I was wigging the rest of the summer while Mush tried to find out the mysteries of the Zohar or some shit. I have no idea what he's talking about."

Snitch opened his mouth to say something but Blink cut him off.

"No," he said. "We're not telling you."

He slumped in his seat just as Skittery joined them with a freshmen boy none of them had ever seen.

"Guys," he said. "This is Ronnie Ganz. I'm his senior buddy."

Snitch and Blink gave noncommittal greetings as they were still occupied in their who-could-glare-the-longest contest but David smiled.

"Hey, I'm David. We, uh, kind of met this morning," he stood. "Speaking of which…I need to go to the bathroom and force Jack to eat lunch for once."

"So," Snitch blew a kiss after him. "That's what you're calling it these days."

"At least he's getting some," Blink quipped, popping the stolen cucumber into his mouth.

Snitch gave him an absolutely filthy look. David turned around three quarters and smirked at Blink to smirked back. Snitch, not wanting to admit defeat, yelled after him once more.

"Give Jack a moan for me!"

"Like David would engage in the act of premarital sex in a bathroom on the first day back," Skittery stated snootily.

Snitch shrugged. "Jack can probably convince a lot of people to do a lot of things."

Blink chortled while Ronnie looked from boy to boy with a confused look on his face.

"Like you'd know," Skittery said. "Virgin."

Snitch screwed up his face and pouted. Blink laughed and exchanged a high five with Skittery.

"Hey," he said, "For your information, assholes, I'm going over to Swifty's after school today and I _will_ lose my virginity."

Ronnie's look became one of sheer terror for the casual discussion of sex.

"Sorry," Skittery said quickly.

He shrugged. "N-no worries, man."

He tried a shaky smile but none of the others believed it. Ronnie leaned back on the bench and sighed, knowing that this year would be exceptionally strange.

--

**A/N: **alright, horribly, horribly short chapter and I know I'm going to get kicked for it but I just wanted to show that I was still updating this, I just hit a horrid snag and that it wasn't dead.


	50. Interlude: IMPORTANT NOTICE

**Attention:**

I had something special planned for chapter fifty but that'll wait. I have exhausted myself with writing forty-nine chapters in four months. Thus, DAMY is taking a break until I can replenish myself. In fact, my _Newsies_ stories are all taking a break except AMoT since I just started it and it's not fair.

This isn't to say, of course, that I'll stop writing and posting. I will be writing for my other fandoms and such while I recharge my Newsies muse. Sorry all.

What to look forward to when DAMY returns:

A wedding (not necessarily with who you'd be led to believe)

The birth of a baby

The finale of a certain couple

The appearance of Luca for the first time

And the rest—er—other hijinks.

So, everyone, this does _not_ mean it's getting abandoned points to list but I just need a break. Hope you all understand. :D


	51. The Sexual Adventures of Layers and Prep

Blink and Skittery left their last period of the day, thankful for the half day, but continuously arguing.

"I just don't see how you can wear so many layers in September. It's seventy-four degrees out!"

"We can't all have a never-ending supply of pink Polos, Skittery."

"Shut up, Layers."

"Preppie."

"Layers."

This continued on for the next few minutes until they reached Oscar's locker—Skittery's destination for he had not seen his elusive boyfriend all day—and squealed when he saw him. Blink had known Skittery for nearly eighteen years and had never known him to squeal.

Oscar turned from the conversation he was having with some boy in a maroon sweatshirt jacket to embrace him. Boy in Jacket seemed none at all affected by this but that was to be expected. While Skittery and Oscar had a tongue-heavy reunion, Blink found himself examining Boy in Jacket.

He was cute, he noticed. He glanced at his wrists, uncovered by the jacket which had the sleeves rolled up. And no red thread. Thank God, Blink had to deal with constant Kabbalah babble courtesy of Mush who seemed intent on converting him. He had thick dark hair that curled slightly over his eyes and a wide mouth that seemed to eternally be smiling, like his own. He was tall and broad-shouldered but not so much that he was burly.

"Hi," he offered lamely, noticing a visible smirk on his face deeming that he knew that he had been staring.

"Hi," he replied. "I'm Luca. And, before you ask, yes, I do in fact _live_ on the second floor of my apartment building."

Blink laughed. He liked him already. Oscar looked away from Skittery.

"Shut up, Luca," he snapped. "No one cares."

Luca turned and punched Oscar in the arm. Blink and Skittery froze and stared at each other in shock. Had someone just done that to Oscar? The Psycho from Sicily?

Much to their dual surprise, Oscar hit back, almost playfully.

"This douchebag is my cousin, Luca," he said with a twinge of anger in his voice. "He's staying with my family for senior year since they don't want him in Camden anymore."

"Fuck up," Luca nudged him with his hip but he was smiling. Blink _liked_ his smile.

He had to shake his head. One, he wasn't even sure if Luca was gay. And two, he had a boyfriend. Wait, that had to be one!

"This is Alex," Skittery said. "And I'm Michael."

"Blink and Skittery," Oscar rolled his eyes. "Skittery's…"

"Your boyfriend. I dig," he was looking at Blink while he spoke to him. "I'm like that too, cousin dear."

"Of course you are," Oscar sneered.

Blink felt strange joy at the mention of Luca's sexuality. Extreme joy. He looked down the hall and breathed a sigh of relief. Mush to the rescue.

"Blink!" he said excitedly but didn't rush into his arms like he regularly did. He just stopped and smiled.

Blink went to hug him but Mush held his hands up.

"Sorry, I've taken a vow of celibacy."

He frowned. "What?"

"What?" Skittery, Oscar and Luca echoed.

"Celibacy. My body is a temple. I can't let people enter it."

Blink sighed in exasperation. Mush had been doing this more and more. This sketchy, pseudo-religious crap.

"Sweetie, I was just going to hug you."

"Yes, but your arm has insinuated that you want more," Mush insisted. "I'm sorry, baby."

Mush then floated—he might as well have—away, leaving the four of them there again.

"Your boyfriend?" Luca queried, nodding towards his retreating back.

"Sure," Blink sighed and fell against Skittery in frustration.

"Leave me alone, Layers."

"Shut up, Preppie."

--

Snitch pulled the covers over his head and moaned.

"We don't have to do it," Swifty said sweetly.

"But I _want_ to," he replied petulantly. "I want to lose my virginity!"

Swifty sighed and pulled him close. "Another try?"

He kissed him and Snitch kissed him back and he tried to get lost in the moment but his body wasn't cooperating. His knees kept jabbing into Swifty's stomach.

"Alright!" he exclaimed, followed by something undoubtedly uncouth in Chinese. "You give me no choice, Rizzio. Give me your hand."

Snitch frowned. "What?"

"Your hand. Give it to me."

Confused, he held his hand out and Swifty took it before reaching into his back pocket.

"Nero," he looked deeply into his eyes. "We don't have to have sex. I love you."

His heart started to speed up. Swifty had just told him that he loved him.

"And I don't think I'd ever love anyone else. I mean, I know this high school shit doesn't last and all that but this feels like the real thing."

God, he was saying everything right. Then why couldn't he sleep with him? Why wouldn't his body let him?

"So…when we're ready, we can do it. And, I want to make that a special day." He pulled whatever it was out of his back pocket and put it on Snitch's hand. His left ring finger to be exact.

It was a simple band, silver and made to look like a woven design but it was aged and spotty. It had to be old.

"Are you…are you proposing to me?" he asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Swifty smiled broadly. "And we can get it done in this forest in Massachusetts. My parents have this new age thing or whatever they're insistent on doing despite our richness and I can't talk them out of it."

Snitch let out a happy squeal and tackled him. "Yes! We're going to get married in the forest like a pair of sprites!"

Swifty pulled away from him for a moment. "Sprites?"

"Yes!" he proclaimed. "We'll be _happy forest sprites_!"

--

Spot had no idea what he was doing. Jack was drunk. Jack was more than a little drunk. He was so drunk, he was wobbling around mewling for David. He didn't know why he had done it but he had. He had gone over to him, put his hand on Jack's shoulder and said 'I'm David.'

Maybe he was a little drunk himself. But now he was in the bedroom of some random guy's apartment where the stupid party was, with his face in Jack's lap while Jack moaned David's name.

"Spot?"

And cue unassuming boyfriend. It felt like another boy was in Spot's body while he watched the drama unfold. He sat up, wiped his mouth, and turned to face Race in the doorway.

"David?" Jack mumbled, blinking his eyes.

"Race…" he started to explain but shut up. What was he to say? _He_ couldn't even explain what he had done.

"Fuck you." And, with that, Race was gone.

Spot contemplated running after him but something in him felt deflated. What was the point? They just kept cheating on each other. He looked back at Jack who was zipping up his pants.

"Thanks, David," he slurred before lurching from the room.

Spot suddenly felt violently ill. He turned and vomited onto the floor. He kept his eyes shut as to not see the color of the vomit. God, he fucked himself over.

--

Racetrack was pissed. He stormed out of the apartment building and down the street, head down. He couldn't even explain his rage but it followed freely through his veins. He hated Spot. He hated him. He supposed he could hate Jack but he was too drunk to remember his own name.

God, what was he thinking? Blowing off Jack? They were in a relationship, weren't they? Some relationship. They kept fucking each other over with someone else.

"Anthony?"

He stopped and turned to see Eli Manic standing in front of him. The cause of any and all of his and Spot's problems—not saying that Jack was a total innocent but he had no idea Spot fancied him—was right there. He could punch him, he could kill him.

Instead, he kissed him.

--

**A/N:** I'm semi-back. What does that mean? It means, I wanted to get this chapter up but don't expect one for a bit. I just had some things that needed addressing. And I love Luca, I don't care what they say. xD


	52. Don't Make Me Have to Like You

Snitch's last class of the day turned out to be drama. The easiest class he had ever taken. Miss Larkson had yet to be moved from teaching both home ec. and drama and was tired from putting out fires from her freshmen cooking class so last period drama mostly just sat around the theater and talked. It was fine by Snitch since he had Swifty in that period. Swifty, his fiancée. The word never got less exciting the more he said it.

He leaned against him in his theater seat, humming 'Once upon a Dream' to himself.

"Stop it," Blink said irritably next to him.

"Awww, what's got Blinky's panties in a knot?" Snitch cooed. "Still pissed off about your Kabbalah-obsessed boyfriend?"

Blink socked him in the arm and went back to sulking. Obviously, his Mush predicament had yet to relieve itself.

"Stop it." Swifty hit him playfully and planted a kiss on the top of his head.

Snitch exhaled. Yeah, not too hard to not be a wiseass when he was in Swifty's arms.

"So when's the wedding?" Blink asked, trying to start up conversation.

Swifty shrugged. "Not sure yet. We're winging it."

Snitch nodded and tilted his head up for a kiss. He noticed Blink wince a little and wondered if he was jealous because his boyfriend was off in cuckoo-land rather than earth. Snitch paused. Well, Mush was never quite grounded. He was just getting progressively worse.

The theater doors slammed open and a large-nosed boy with thick, wavy hair strode in. Blink sat up straight as he handed a schedule sheet to Miss Larkson. Snitch watched in interest as he headed over to them.

"Hey, Patches," he said easily to Blink like they were old friends.

Blink, on the other hand, looked like a starstruck little girl. So much for his rotten mood. And Patches? What the hell?

"Hey, Luca," he breathed as if this dude was some Greek God.

"Have we met?" Snitch asked almost rudely. He didn't like it when his friends knew people he didn't.

"I'm Luca DeLancey."

"DeLancey?"

"Oscar's cousin," Blink explained. "From Jersey."

"Always loved England."

"_New _Jersey." Swifty shifted a little and flicked him.

"I knew that."

Luca smiled at him but his eyes were on Blink. Snitch suddenly felt defensive for Mush. Sure, he was a little out there—putting it lightly—and he was certainly the first one to point it out, Mush was still Blink's boyfriend. And Luca should know that.

"He's taken, you know," he stated matter-of-factly.

Blink shot him a glacial look to which Snitch fielded with an innocent smile.

"He knows that," he snapped.

"I just happen to think Patches is nifty," Luca said easily, shrugging his shoulders.

Snitch scowled. He didn't like the whelp already.

--

Spot slammed his locker shut He must've set a new record; it was the second day of senior year and his life was already roadkill. The only positive thing about last night—if could indeed be called that—was that Jack couldn't remember a thing. Spot didn't know whether to be relieved or offended. But Race was gone. His first actual boyfriend. Okay, so maybe they kept cheating on each other but they were obviously meant to be.

Spot snorted a laugh. He should seriously stop hanging around Eva and her spawn if he was sounding _that_ girly.

He noticed that dork Ben Lee walking over to him, devoid of that little weirdo who was friends with David.

"Hey, um…Spot?" he looked visibly nervous. "Do you want a ride to Eva's this afternoon? She lives in my building."

Spot cocked a brow. He lived in Eva's building? Damn, boy was rich. That would, of course, explain the 'stang he drove.

"Sure," he said, tossing aside his status for a ride to Fifth Avenue.

Spot followed him down the stairs, feeling shorter than usual. He tossed his stuff in the car and sat in the passenger seat. Swifty sat for a minute behind the steering wheel, tapping his fingers on it lightly.

"You put the key in that little slot there and turn it," Spot advised.

He turned to look at him, his almond-shaped eyes suddenly fierce.

"Spot…um…Snitch kind of sent me to ask you something since he's best friends with David."

Spot glowered. Of course. The entire fucking school had heard about his little game of mouth 'Rattler Race' with Jack. He was tempted just to throw off his seatbelt and bolt but didn't for reasons he couldn't name. Well, those and the fact that Race, Jack and David were leaving the building as they spoke.

"Okay," he said instead of the million biting comments he had swimming around his head.

Swifty started the car and pulled into traffic.

"It's just that he told me to say that Jack and David have a really good thing going and he didn't want you to, um…interfere."

"Don't you have anything to say about it?" he asked snidely. "Or does _Snitch_ speak for you both?"

From what he had gathered from short meetings with the buck-toothed whelp, Snitch talked enough for the entire island of Manhattan.

"I don't know Jack all that well and, frankly, I don't like him," Swifty said easily. "So I have no opinion. But he figured since we're both going to the same place, I could talk to you about it."

Spot folded his arms. "Alright then. Go."

"I just told you."

He let his arms drop. Man, Swifty was quick. Damn.

"I don't want Jack," he said, surprising even himself. "I want Race. But I fucked things up."

"You did."

Spot glowered. "You're not even going to reassure me that I didn't?"

Swifty laughed. "You blew off some other guy and your boyfriend walked in. I'd say that you fucked that up quite nicely."

He was impressed. That was the second time that Swifty had called him out. He smirked a little.

"Don't make me have to like you."

--

"Jack, for the last time, take your shoes off of the couch," David sighed and leaned against the counter.

Jack looked up at him and grinned but kicked his boots off. David shook his head and placed the plate of apple slices and peanut butter on the kitchen table, knowing that it would go uneaten except maybe by Liberace—the Miracle Dog, as he had secretly began to call him. Esther had expressly told David that Les and his friends needed healthy food. However, Jack came over with a bag of Doritos and that all went south.

Les and his buddies were currently sitting on the floor in a tight circle—seeing as there were only three of them—and discussing something in low voices. Every once in awhile a laugh would erupt and one of them would stick their head up and look around but then go back to whispering.

David shrugged. At least they were being good. Les's friends were alright: a little black kid he called Boots and a chubby kid who was for some reason called Snipeshooter.

"Could you keep it down?!" Sarah cried angrily from her bedroom.

The door opened and Morris stuck his head out. David glowered a little but raised his brows.

"What?"

"Sarah wants you to be quiet," he said too loudly and then mouthed the words _help me_ at him.

David had to laugh as he ducked back inside. Sarah was entering her third trimester and things weren't pretty. He sat down on the couch next to Jack who snapped up into a sitting position so they could sit together.

Jack started to tilt his face towards him but David held his hands up.

"Jack, no making out while I'm babysitting. It's really unprofessional."

Jack sighed and turned to Les and his friends on the floor. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a crushed beyond all consumption package of Gushers. He tossed it to Les.

"Hey, Good Feathers," he said authoritatively. "Go to Les's room. We need private time."

David was about to bring up his fallacy in judgment since it would make more sense if he and Jack went into the room he shared with his brother but decided against it since they were already up and going.

Jack put his arms around him and kissed his cheek. "There we go."

He kissed him lightly. David put his hands up again.

"Ugh, what now?" Jack asked irritably.

"Just one thing…Good Feathers?"

"You know, from _Animaniacs_?"

David laughed. "Jack, you're a moron."

Jack pushed him down a little on the couch. "A hot moron."

David worked his arms around his neck. "This is true."

--

Blink stood awkwardly in the doorway. He didn't know why. He had gone to Mush's apartment tons of times, why did it have to be so weird now? He opened the door. Like pretty much everyone at Pulitzer High, Mush lived in a walk-up with no buzzer so Blink could just mosey in when he pleased.

"Hello, Alex!" his mother always seemed incredibly happy to see him.

Blink smiled at her.

"And how are you, Alex?" she asked from her spot in the kitchen.

Spicy smells were emanating from in there and Blink's stomach growled.

"I'm fine, thanks," he said. "Um…"

"Dean's in his room, Alex."

Blink nodded in thanks. Usually, Mrs. Meyers's tendency to say his name after everything he said (as though she had to remind herself who she was talking to) made him smile but it for some reason annoyed him today.

He wound his way around the props his father made crammed into every spare inch of the apartment to Mush's room.

He found the door open. Some Yiddish chanting music was playing and the lights were off. The room was lit by only a fat, lemon-scented, votive candle in the center of the room by Mush, who was meditating completely naked.

"Mush?"

His head snapped up and he grinned broadly at him. "Hey, Blinky! Did you come to join me?"

He rose, completely shameless, and bounded over to him. He put his arms around Blink's neck and kissed him. Apparently, his body being 'a temple' thing was only a one day occurrence. Blink sighed. He missed the old Mush. The soccer-playing, Bigfoot-obsessed Mush he had known and loved.

"No, just wanted to see how you were doing," he said.

_And pretend that my stomach doesn't flip every time I see Luca_.

Actually, seeing Mush completely naked was a very good distraction for the stomach flippage. Mush was one of those guys whose body looked better naked than in clothes…for very obvious reasons.

"Oh…okay!" he said excitedly.

Blink stepped in the room and Mush shut the door behind him. The candlelight flickered on his face and he had to stop. Sometimes Mush caught him off guard with his high cheekbones and his full, cherubic lips and he just had to stop and stare and wonder why he was ever allowed to touch him.

Then he remembered the stupid red thread around his wrist. That little piece of fiber was the only thing keeping them from going back to normal.

Mush put his hands on his shoulders and widened his grin.

"Blink, you won't believe it! I can have sex! I read this book where you just meditate for hours together until you just…are…and it's amazing! We have to try it."

"Actually, Mush, I think that's the beginning of _Dream a Little Dream_."

He gave him a confused look and Blink shook his head. "Never mind. Can't we just have regular sex?"

Mush sighed and sat on the floor. "But…Blink…"

He looked up and aimed those huge, brown eyes at him. Blink nearly melted to the floor. Looking at Mush made it so easy to forget Luca.

Shit. There he was again.

_Your boyfriend is in front of you, naked. Take advantage of the situation!_

He knelt down and ran a hand through Mush's curls.

"Listen, let's do it regularly for now and then we'll watch _Dream a Little Dream_ and you can moon over Corey Feldman."

Mush turned to him and sighed. "Okay…fine. But you're gonna meditate with me some day."

_Don't hold your breath._

"Sure," he promised.

--

**A/N:** I'm officially back! With renewed spirit, I am off hiatus. DAMY will now be updated regularly. Hooray! Also, I may finally get off my ass and make a personality quiz on Quizilla or something. I just need to bug my friends with photoshop to help me make banner-y things since this new computer doesn't offer jack (both in the form of editing programs and Kelly). But enough rambling. xD


	53. It Can't Possibly Fail!

David lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Jack had fallen asleep about a half an hour ago. His arm draped over his chest and he was breathing deeply but wasn't snoring. Of course, Jack didn't snore in his sleep. He made mumbling noises as if he were talking to someone who wasn't there. Secretly, he believed that it was because Jack never ate anything that it led him to hallucinate but it wasn't really his place to say so. Actually, it was but he knew Jack wasn't going to listen to him.

There was also something bothering him about how Jack wasn't taking any AP or honors classes this year. And he seemed really noncommittal about taking his SATS. Was it senioritis or something else? Jack had expressed interest in going to NYU, hadn't he?

David nudged him slightly. Jack mumbled something and snuggled deeper.

"Jack," he hissed into his ear. "Jack."

Another mumble but this time he opened his eyes. "What?"

"How come you aren't taking any good classes this year?"

He sighed and rolled onto his back. "Because I don't want to…I…"

He shook his head and reached for his pants to grab a cigarette. David stopped him. He was trying to get him to quit smoking as well. Jack was going to get too thin.

"Jack." David rolled over and stroked his cheek in a way he hoped was comforting. "Talk to me."

He shook his head. "No. I can't talk to you about this. You wouldn't understand."

He felt anger flare up in his chest. "How do you know if you won't say it?"

"Because, Dave, you're all early admittance to Berkley. Mr. 1560 on his SATS. You wouldn't understand someone not wanting that."

He frowned. Not wanting that? Was Jack saying that he didn't want to go to college? How could someone not want to go to college?

"What do you mean?" David asked.

"I mean…nothing. It's nothing, really," he promised.

He took David's hand and kissed it gently. David felt the urge to whip it away.

"Jack…" he said in a warning tone.

He let out a puff of air and rolled onto his back.

"Dave, it's nothing. Forget about it. I'm just stressed out right now about shit going on at home."

"Tell me."

He shrugged. "It's nothing for you to worry about. Promise. Just…"

He rolled back onto his side and kissed him more tenderly and sweetly than he had ever been kissed by Jack. Even more tender than their "make up" kiss in the elevator.

"Just forget about it," he whispered against his lips when they separated. "I'm just a little stressed out and needed to lighten my load, okay?"

David nodded. "Okay."

--

Spot was not amused. He sat in Denton's class, his arms folded across his chest and a scowl on his face.

"I'm splitting you into partners by seating arrangement," he explained. "I know it seems odd, a project on the third day of school, but we want to hit the ground running, don't we?"

There was the expected, limited reply. Jack let out a 'hell yeah!' and pumped his arms up but quickly dissolved into laughter. Spot looked down at the list of books in front of him. He and whatever partner he was given would have to choose to do their interpretation on.

"Come on, guys," Denton grinned goofily at the bored and disinterested students. "It should be a fun project. These books…they deal with broad themes so don't confine yourselves to the literal interpretation."

He started picking off partners. The hair on the back of Spot's neck rose. Jesus, what if he was put with Jack? Furthermore, how did Jack still not know what happened that night? How drunk _was_ he? Certainly someone told him, right?

"Patrick, you're with Mark."

Spot turned to look at stupid Goldstein who just smiled uneasily at him. He sighed. Stuck with that preppie loser. Well, at least it wasn't Jack.

--

Skittery let out a labored sigh and plopped at their regular lunch table.

"Uh oh, Skittery's pissed," Snitch said in a singsong voice.

He gave him a glacial look and let his head fall into his arms.

"What gives?" Blink queried, filching his daily cucumber from David's salad. "You were acting all freaky on the car ride this morning too."

"My dad found out that I'm still dating Oscar," he explained to his arms.

David and Snitch exchanged a confused look.

"Elaborate," Snitch commanded. "You two have been dating since, like, ever."

"Very eloquently put, Rizzio," Blink said coolly. "But seriously, what gives?"

Skittery shrugged. "My father decided to get all parental on me for once in my life and because of my little 'relapse' earlier this year because of him, he doesn't want me seeing him anymore. I mean…he hit me _once_."

David looked around, visibly confused. "What? Oscar hit you?"

Snitch elbowed him. "Way to come in late in the game, Jacobs."

"Seriously, he actually threatened to throw me out." He made a sour face. "But then again, this is the first time he's done this so I have a feeling it won't happen. But Jesus…"

Blink shook his head. "I forgave Oscar for that. Your dad can."

Skittery rolled his eyes. "Blink, you're my friend. My dad aided in my creation. And, to him, Oscar is the abusive Antichrist."

Snitch tapped his chin. "Yeah…that sounds about right."

Skittery balled up his napkin and threw it at him. Snitch held his hands up.

"Hey, hey. Skits, calm down. I'm only here to help. In fact, I already have an idea."

Blink and David exchanged a look. Snitch frowned.

"Hey, my ideas _work_. Remember Homecoming? And, Blink, I got you and Mush back together…where is the little freak anyway?"

Blink glared at him. "He is not a freak. And he's…he's enlightening himself in the mysteries of the Zohar in the library…"

Skittery shook his head. "I still don't know when he converted to Judaism."

"Oh, there are a lot of souls inside Mush's teeny little body," Snitch giggled into his palm.

Blink scowled. "Can we not discuss this? We were talking about Skittery, remember?"

Snitch laughed and held his hands up. "Alright, alright. My genius idea is from a book."

David just shook his head and took a bite of his salad. Snitch elbowed him lightly before continuing.

"Okay, you go to a priest and get him to give you this drug that makes it seem like you're dead but only for, like, three days. Then I'll send a letter to Oscar to come get you so you can run away together. It can't possibly fail!"

Skittery opened his mouth to say something but Blink held his hand up.

"It's best if we just don't say anything. I, for one, have given up at this point."

Snitch frowned. "What? It's even supported by literature."

"Yeah," David scoffed. "_Romeo and Juliet_. We all know how well that ended."

Skittery noticed a slight edge to his voice that he couldn't attribute to Snitch's less than brilliant idea.

"Okay, so I was joking. But I'll think of something."

"Please don't."

--

"You're coming with me."

Specs glanced up from his lunch to see Spot Conlon standing in front of him. His thin arms were crossed over his chest and that perpetual scowl was on his face. He glanced at Dutchy and Bumlets who gave him curious looks.

"Dude, the uppercrust," Dutchy cackled.

Spot ignored him and dead-eyed Specs.

"Goldstein, it's not multiple choice. Come on."

Specs grabbed his backpack, gave his friends an almost frightened look and followed Spot out of the cafeteria.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm setting you up for the mob hit that'll put you out of my misery," he answered coldly. "I said to come on."

Specs was confused. Spot obviously wasn't enjoying his company and yet he sought him out and dragged him away from his friends. They kept walking in silence towards the direction of the library. Specs glanced around the empty hallways, expecting Snyder to jump out at them and shoved pink detention slips under their noses.

"Alright." Spot stopped about ten feet from the double doors. "Listen, I kind of don't want to spend lunch where I normally do and I figured 'if I'm going to skip out, who do I want to bring down with me?' and since you're my partner in that fucking assignment, I chose you."

Specs gave him a skeptical look.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Oh, nothing. So…um…okay. Are we going to work on the project?"

"Sure, why not? What book are we doing?"

Specs bit his lip. "Um, I was thinking maybe _Lord of the Flies_…there's a lot of symbolism about good and evil in there and…"

Spot held a hand up. "Spare me. Okay, we'll do that one. Our theme should be…_Luster_."

Specs felt his face heat up. "Spot! We can't do our project to the theme of gay porn!"

He shrugged and leaned against a bay of lockers. "Why not? It pretty much is already."

He decided that a subject change would be prudent. But he couldn't think of anything to discuss with Spot. There was no need to ask him why he wasn't spending lunch in the bathroom with Jack and Race because even he had heard about what happened at the party. Outside of that, he didn't know anything to talk to Spot about. They were on different planes of existence. Spot was popular and he was not. And what could they talk about? The fact that they both liked boys?

"Um…let's pick a different theme," he offered lamely.

Spot just smirked.

_Yeah, this would be me not looking forward to this project,_ Specs thought dourly.

--

"Let's do drugs."

Jack looked up at Race, giving him a strange look. "What?"

"Drugs. Let's do some drugs," he suggested airily, as though he were proposing a stroll through Central Park.

He cocked a brow. "Drugs? Like pot?"

Race sat next to him and shook his head. "No. Ecstasy, meth, heroin. Drugs."

"Are you on crack?"

"Not yet."

Jack ground his cigarette into the metal side of the paper towel dispenser and shook his head.

"Damn, Race, what gives? You've been acting insane and what the hell is up with you and Spot?"

Race gave him a dirty look.

"Don't give me those looks. Remember who's in charge, Higgins. Now spill, assjack."

"We broke up. That's it. Now let's do some drugs. I bet we could find a supplier here. I bet Palanski knows a few people."

Jack shook his head. "Whatever. You're PMSing and I don't care enough. Whatever happened between you and Spot is none of my business anyway."

"Yes it is."

He turned around. "What?"

"What happened between me and Spot," he explained. "It is your business. You were involved."

Jack shifted his eyes side to side. What the hell was Race getting at?

"Hmm?"

"We broke up because Spot was blowing you off at that party."

"What?"

"Spot was giving you head. You were wast—"

Jack grabbed him by the front of his shirt and rammed him into a wall.

"What?" he repeated in a low voice.

"…Are you on 'roids or something? That violence was unnecessary," Race spoke coolly but his face was contorted into a look of fear.

"Are you telling me that Spot played mouth pole-vaulting with me and I didn't know?"

He nodded. "In fact, if memory serves—I was kind of blinded by rage—you thought he was David."

Jack let him down and slumped on the floor. "Shit."

Race sat next to him. "Indeed."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Jack could only assume that Race was thinking about his own current dilemma. He was fucked. No way could David find out. He was still pissed about their argument yesterday and this was going to make him break with him once more. Possibly permanently. Shit.

He cast a look at Race.

"What?"

"So…drugs you say?"

--

**A/N:** Any hardcore fans notice the little actor reference in there? Well, if not, it was _Luster_ who happened to have our lovely little Shon Greenblatt in it. Hee, Oscar's in porn.


	54. Operation Racetrack

Blink knocked impatiently on the door to Skittery's apartment. He had spent the last two hours meditating with Mush and he was in a bad mood. And it wasn't just meditating, no, it was _yoga_. When he wanted Blink to read the Talmud with him, he knew he had to leave.

He knocked again and this time Snitch answered. He didn't question why he was there, just went in and slumped into the soft, white, comforting leather of Skittery's couch.

"How'd you do?" Snitch plopped next to him, throwing his legs up on his lap. "I see you've met my...faithful…handyman…"

Blink shoved his legs off of him, not in the mood.

"He's just a little brought down because, when you knocked, he thought you were the…candy man."

"Shut up, Snitch. I'm not in the mood for this."

He held his hands up. "Don't get strung out, by the way that I look. Don't judge a book by its cover…"

Blink slumped lower, trying to ignore him. But, as per usual with Snitch, it was impossible to do so.

"…I'm not…much of a man by the light of day," he leaned back into Blink who promptly shoved him away. "But by night, I'm one hell of a lover!"

"Where's Skittery?"

"I'm just a sweet transvestite from Transsexual, Transylvania!"

"I fucking hate you, you know that?"

Snitch was strutting about the room when Skittery walked in from his bedroom, rolling his eyes.

"Snitch watched _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ last night. The results, as you can see, are not pretty."

Blink shrugged. "At least it's not _Orca_…or Kabbalah."

Snitch stopped his dancing and pulled a face.

"God, that boy needs some serious help," he observed.

"Shut up, Snitch."

Snitch shrugged and plopped down on the couch. Blink was grateful. He knew, with Snitch, that The Time Warp was soon to come. At least since he was sitting down, it wouldn't be right then.

Skittery nodded. "I have to agree with him, and I speak from experience. Mush needs help."

"No, guys. It's a phase. Cryptozoology one day, Kabbalah the next. No big. Mush is just looking for some meaning in life."

Snitch shook his head. "Dude, I don't think he knows what he's looking for. I mean, seriously, half the time I think he's on something."

Blink let out an exasperated sigh. "Mush isn't on anything."

"Then maybe he should be," Skittery put in. "As in, something prescribed by a doctor. Seriously, Blink, I think he's losing his grip on reality."

Blink cast a look at them both. These two were supposedly his friends? Where was David? Despite his issues, he was the voice of reason. He mentally scoffed. No, David would probably agree with them. They didn't…he didn't…. Blink felt rage mount inside of him.

"What do you two know? You never hang out with him at all! Neither of you know him!" he snapped. "Snitch, you even go out of your way to avoid him."

He lowered his eyes to the ground.

"Mush doesn't need help, so just shut the hell up about it!"

Silence befell them for a good two minutes before Snitch spoke up.

"It's just a jump to the left—"

"Shut up, Snitch," they said in unison.

--

Oscar sat down for the family's weekly dinner with Morris, noticing an atmosphere. For one, Sarah was there, her hands resting on her enormously pregnant belly. He frowned. Weren't teenage babies supposed to be freakishly small? He knew that he had been. But then again, according to pictures, Morris had not been. It had to be a genetic thing.

Luca was also looking at him almost smugly from his sweat across from him. He felt familiar rage build up. He and Luca had never gotten along. Mostly it was because of the pressure their respective fathers put on them to outdo the other. But recently, he had been irking him more and more with their current living situation. Luca had covered his new half of the room with posters of Bon Jovi and Bruce Springsteen while Oscar just kept playing his guitar at an earsplitting level.

"Ossie," his mother cooed. "Now that you're here, I have a favor to ask you."

He looked up, holding the serving spoon with a confused look on his face. It appeared his mother was addressing him.

"You know, since she's so young, Sarah's doctor thought it would be good for her to take a childbirth class."

Sarah smiled at him over the table. Oscar set down the spoon. What did this have to do with him? He sipped his soda, giving his mother an even more confused look.

"The thing is, Morris has a job now and neither me nor your father feel quite right doing it but she has to have a partner and it's only a couple hours after school."

He coughed up his soda onto his plate. _Childbirth class?_

"What the fuck?" he snapped.

Luca turned up the smug factor and forked some pasta into his mouth.

"Good penne, Auntie." He grinned.

Oscar shot him a death glare. Luca smiled innocently.

"Please?" Sarah asked quietly.

And it must have been Skittery's influence (or one of his more insipid friends like the little weirdo with the thing for water mammals) because he sighed.

"Fine."

His mother let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a squeal.

"Thanks," Morris said gratefully.

He shrugged. "It's what I do."

As if God had decided to enact some kind of kindness upon him, his cell phone started to ring. He checked the number and smiled slightly. Skittery.

"Hey."

"No phones at the table, Ossie," his mother teased.

He stood and went into his room. There were footfalls behind him and Oscar turned to see Luca.

"Go eat, Luca," he snapped.

He was grinning almost creepily.

"Is Patches there?" he asked.

"Who?"

"Your boyfriend's friend—"

Oscar's eyes shot wide and he shoved Luca into their room and slammed the door.

"Douche!" he snapped. "Mom and dad don't know, asshole!"

He held his hands up. "Okay, don't freak out on me. Now, is Patches there?"

He shoved him away.

"Oscar? What's going on?" Skittery asked.

"Nothing…is Blink there?"

"Blink? Oh, yeah. He's in a sulking mood, though…wait. Why do you want to talk to Blink?"

"I don't." He rolled his eyes. "Luca does."

"…Okay. Hold on."

Oscar handed the phone to him.

"Don't say I never did anything for you, asshole. You have ten minutes."

Luca took it and flashed him a grin. "Thanks. Have fun at childbirth class tomorrow."

"…You have five minutes."

--

"Ugh, Jack." David plugged his nose. "You smell like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle."

He gave him a confused look. "What?"

He shook his head and let him in. David had been stuck babysitting again and, once Jack found out about it, he decided to drop by. He was sick of doing bong hits with Race who seemed hell bent on spending senior year completely plastered. Jack, at least, had the dignity to pass up on the acid Race had somehow found.

"Hey, Good Feathers," he greeted Les and his buddies who were sprawled out on the floor watching _Avatar_.

Les waved to him, grinning cheekily. Apparently, he showed no distaste for Jack's dubbing of his group.

"Why do you call them the Good Feathers?" David asked irritably.

"Because there aren't enough of them to be Planeteers," he said simply, putting his arms around his waist.

"Ah, because you just have average classes, so you _must_ have enough time to make up stupid nicknames."

Jack let out a labored sigh and turned him so they were facing. David was still moaning about that? He pushed him into his room and locked the door behind them.

With practiced ease, he pushed David onto the bed and started kissing him ferociously.

"Jack…" he warned. "We need to talk about this."

"David…" he mocked his tone. "No, we don't. We're fine. Okay?"

He sat back and pulled his shirt off. He saw David's resolve start to crumble in his eyes.

"Dave, I'm fine, you're fine, everything is fine."

He shook his head but made no move to get up. "No it's not. You're throwing away your future and—"

But Jack had learned last year that a very simple way to shut David up was to just kiss him.

"We're fine," he promised him once they broke apart. "I'm fine."

"Say that a few more times, Jack," he scoffed. "Say it a few more times and maybe I'll start to believe you."

--

"Hey," Dutchy said coolly, opening the door with a small smile.

Specs cocked a brow. No 'hey, dude!' followed by an exuberant kiss? Actually, Dutchy didn't smell like pot at all. He smelled…like laundry detergent and Axe.

"Dutchy…are you sober?" he asked skeptically.

"Hmm?" he queried when Specs was certain that he had heard him.

"Are your parents out?"

He nodded noncommittally. "Uh huh. Want something to eat?"

Specs looked at him. Alright, what was his deal? He put his hands on his shoulders and kissed him lightly. Strange, he couldn't remember when he had initiated a kiss. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember a sober Dutchy. Yes, he had heard of his sojourn into sobriety when he was in Boston but he found it hard to believe.

"Is everything alright?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Specs took his hand and tried to lead him into the bedroom but his feet stayed rooted in the spot.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Come on, I can cook us something."

Dutchy pulled him towards the kitchen and Specs sighed, letting him. He didn't understand why Dutchy was acting so strangely.

His phone rang. He let go of him for a moment, flashed a smile and looked at the screen. An unfamiliar number was there.

"Hello?"

"Goldstein?"

"…Spot?"

Dutchy's eyebrows shot upwards in surprise, edging to the bottom of his baseball cap.

"Just making sure this was your number. I had to threaten that pompous metalhead to get it."

Ah, Bumlets.

"So why are you calling me?"

"So we can get this fucking thing done soon, duh. What's up?"

He looked at Dutchy and then the bedroom before sighing.

"Nothing."

"Good. Keep your schedule open. Later."

There was a click. Specs stared at his cell phone. That was…strange.

"What'd Conlon want?"

"Something for our project." He shrugged. "So…your parents are out. Come on."

Dutchy blinked twice and fixed his glasses. "Pizza?"

--

"When in doubt, spend," Spot decreed, pulling into a spot in the Palisades Mall.

He put Eva's Lincoln town car into park and smiled at Specs. Admittedly, the boy hadn't been his first choice for accompaniment on this excursion but, when he called Jack, he had said he had plans. Judging by his tone, Spot could rightfully assume that plans involved David, champagne, and Digimon bed sheets.

Specs offered a smile. After Dutchy left that morning, Spot called. He was grateful. He felt so unnerved and crazy about his behavior that he needed to talk to a friend. Shopping, though, wasn't what he had in mind. He did not subscribe to the cliché of retail therapy but he needed to talk to someone. And Spot, for some reason, seemed hell-bent on shopping. When he had asked, Spot had said that he had an important mission and, unless Specs said yes, he was going to be relentless and obnoxious. Two things Spot was very good at being.

So shopping it was. At the Palisades mall, which was not too far from the city.

"But," Spot explained as they exited the borrowed car and headed towards the air-conditioned interior. "I am not talking about dropping seventy-five bucks on a pair of red leather pants that make your ass the size of New Jersey. I'm talking about spending money to get what you want."

"Which would not be an ass the size of New Jersey."

"You catch on quickly, Goldstein."

Specs smiled thinly. "Spot, there's something I want to talk to you about."

"Yes?" he asked, distracted.

They stepped into the mall and Spot immediately started looking around at the kiosks. Specs bit his lip. Talking about personal things was never his strong suit but he wanted to disclose the information to Spot all day. He was really the only person he could talk to.

"Well, it's about Dutchy," he said. "You see, he stayed over last night."

"Where the hell is that damn store?" Spot asked as their sneakers squeaked audibly over the cement floor.

"What store?"

"The one I need for Operation Racetrack. I am a man with a plan and the money to back it up."

He waved the gold card Eva had given him so it caught the fluorescent lighting. Oh, so _that_ was what this was about. It must be nice, Specs mused, to feel certain of a game plan. Where was his Operation Figure Out What the Hell Was Really Up with Dutchy? Maybe talking about it would help.

"Something is wrong between me and Dutchy. Last night he—"

"Ass!" Spot yelled as a group of very large women with lots of bleached hair clamored by, their shopping bags winging the vertically challenged Spot in the head. "Did you see that? Anyway, Dutchy. What's wrong?"

"I don't know…he just seems distant. Last night, he stayed over and we didn't…you know."

"No kosher kielbasa?"

Specs blanched. "That's just gross."

"But accurate," Spot pointed out. "So what?"

"So shouldn't he have…you know…wanted to?"

Spot shook his head. "Honestly, Specs, how obsessive can you be? Dutchy didn't want to do it one night. _That's_ your concept of a crisis?"

"Well, no but—"

"I would _kill_ to have with Racetrack what you have with Dutchy right now. Do you realize that?"

"Yes but…" How could he possibly explain? Maybe he really was overreacting. Spot was the one with the more obvious boyfriend crisis. The least he could do was be supportive.

"So you're going to buy something for Race?"

"You could say that."

Specs wasn't sure he followed this logic; last he'd heard, Race could buy anything Spot could afford (they weren't exactly beacons of wealth) and wasn't speaking to him.

"Ah, here we are."

"Where we are?"

"What I'm looking for. My point—and I do have one—is that I need to be active in my pursuit for Race. Try it some time," he waved a hand toward a Cingular store.

"You're buying Race a cell phone?"

"No, Specs," Spot replied patiently. "Why would I do that? Follow me."

Specs sighed. Really, he had too much on his mind to try and follow Spot's flights of illogic. Why did Dutchy keep insisting everything was normal? He was sober. Sober Dutchy was _not_ normal. What if he was cheating on him? No, he wasn't the type. Right?

Spot suggested that he be active. Maybe he should give it a try.

"Can I help you?" the perky, spiky-haired guy behind the counter asked.

"Yes. I need a new cell phone plan," Spot replied.

He plucked a brochure from under his desk and slid it over to Spot. "Lemme just go over the plans with you—"

"I don't need you to go over the plans. Just pick one."

"But there's different options—"

"Fine. This one," Spot pointed blindly at the page.

"Well okay. Do you need a new—?"

"Let's cut to the chase," Spot tilted his head to the side and stared the guy down with his weirdly intense eyes. "Any phone plan, any phone. I need that for _one hundred _phones. Which I'd like programmed now."

"Did you say—?"

Spot turned to Specs. "Did I not say one hundred phones?"

"You did," Specs confirmed. "I have no idea why but I have a feeling he's going to explain."

"That is a boy that knows me," he smiled at him. "Now. One hundred phones on plan whatever. I want every single number on them blocked except for a single number that I give you. And I want that number programmed into all of the speed dials too."

"Is this, like, a joke?"

"No, it's not, like, a joke," Spot bit.

Then it dawned on Specs. "You're ordering a hundred cell phones for Race and the only number he can call on them is yours."

"There's a reason you make straight A's, Goldstein."

"That's actually kind of…brilliant."

"Isn't it?"

He nodded. "It's sweet and funny and shows how much you want him. I should do something like that for Dutchy."

"Dutchy loves you, you paranoid idiot."

"But—"

"No buts," he held up the gold card. "Now, remind me to call Eva after this and tell her how much I love her."


	55. Art Imitating Life or Life Imitating Art

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay but my computer reset itself and I lost the five pages I already had. So, instead of just rewriting what I had, here is a super special awesome fantasy chapter (yes, I did watch Wednesday's episode of _One Life to Live_ and I'm not going defend myself for watching it)

--

Blink was pacing his tiny room like an impatient, caged lion. He suddenly knew why Skittery smoked; his nerves were completely shot. He was jittery and shaking. Every noise made him jump. Part of him told himself to calm down. That everything was fine. Sure he had icky feelings for Luca but he hadn't acted on them.

Yet.

Blink grabbed a pen off of his desk and began to chew voraciously on it. Ink leaked into his mouth and he spat the whole mess to the floor.

"Alright," he said into the emptiness of his four, small walls. "Stop it. You're freaking out over nothing."

His words got caught in the walls of his green-painted cage and he knew that he needed to get the hell out of his room.

Trudging into the living room, he saw one of his mother's romance novels sitting on the table. Some medieval drivel. Blink slumped on the couch and idly picked up the book.

Some woman with a torrent of blonde hair was wearing a dress that was far too revealing to be historically accurate. She was in the arms of a muscular man with curly dark hair and a growth of stubble. He chortled at the cover.

Still, he found himself flipping to the first page and starting to read. Halfway through the first page, he set it down.

This was what he was resorting to? Reading romance novels that his mother probably read to the nubile young men she seduced to get them in the mood?

Blink shook his head. No, he wasn't going to read some crappy erotica just because he was having a crisis. Maybe it wasn't even a crisis. He was still with Mush and was probably only feeling feelings for Luca because Mush was acting strangely. Yes, he had been ignoring him for a good two weeks but maybe that was what he needed. They were still going to Homecoming together.

Things would go back to normal. They had to. Satisfied, Blink reached for the remote.

Instead, his hand grabbed the book. Picking it up, he started to read.

--

Prince Alex was one of the three sons-in-law of King Oscar. He and his two other brothers, Prince David and Prince Nero, were to be wed soon.

With much insistence from the other king and their brother, King Michael, the boys were paired with princes who they would love and who would also aide the kingdom. David was to wed Prince Francis and Nero was madly in love with Prince Benjamin. Alex was to be wed to Prince Dean from the far off kingdom of Kabbalah.

Now, Alex loved Prince Dean but Dean wasn't exactly right in the head. He was flighty, naïve and obsessive. Alex used to love all of those things about Dean but they were starting to wear on him.

Prince Nero and even King Michael told him that Prince Dean was in severe need to go see the court wizard but Alex would have none of that. He was certain that Dean's strangeness was just a phase and they'd be married and live happily ever after.

Alex lived with that knowledge, holding onto it like it was a precious jewel. He held onto it until King Oscar got a new bodyguard.

He was strong, smart and funny and Alex became enraptured by him.

"I don't like him," Nero said. "He's a knight anyway. Knights are all so dumb."

Alex would shove him and tell him to be quiet.

"You're betrothed," King Michael said, adjusting his pink robes in his throne. "And besides, he's from Jersey."

Prince David didn't say anything since he spent most of his time with Prince Francis but Alex knew that he agreed with them. David was the smartest of them all and always knew what was best. Even if he did have his own problems.

One day, Prince Alex was out riding with Prince Dean. Dean used to talk frequently of finding unicorns and manticores in the royal woods but instead, he jabbered on about something called The Zohar, which was the chief book of his kingdom.

Alex had found his unicorn talk endearing but the talk of The Zohar wore on his nerves. Luca the knight was with them, making sure that none of the king's enemies (and there were many as King Oscar didn't have the best reputation) attacked the two princes.

Alex found himself talking to him. They discussed science and the arts and anything but The Zohar.

Dean noticed Alex's strange behavior but said nothing of it. He just smiled and suggested that they meditate in the castle observatory that night.

One night, Alex left his bed chambers after being with Dean and padded down the cold, stone hallway. He kept walking until he reached the servant's chambers. When he got there, Luca smiled at him. Like he knew he was going to be there.

"I don't want to feel this," Alex told him gravely.

"I know you don't," Luca replied and then pulled him in for a long kiss…

Blink shook his head and threw the book across the room. What was that?! He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. A rerun of _Grey's Anatomy_ was playing. Too much drama. He changed it to Comedy Central and watched a skinny guy with long hair talk about a bank teller named Whiskey Pete.

He didn't look at the book lying on the floor, the cover kicking up from being folded back. Still, as he watched the show, he couldn't help but think about how his mind wandered and the premise of that stupid book.

Art imitating life or the other way around?

--

Spot stared dejectedly at his phone. The red Razr was the enemy. It had been two weeks since his little excursion at the mall and Race had yet to call him.

"Patrick," Eva's voice rang from her room. "Stop moping so much, my dear."

Spot glanced up. He was often surprised how much Eva and her two children knew about his life. It was certainly more than his parents did.

Eva swooped into the room in another gold dress that Spot now knew to be by Versace and gave him a kiss on his cheek, being careful not to smear her lipstick.

"Tell the twins I won't be long."

Then, in a cloud of perfume like some sort of genie, she disappeared. Immediately, like Munchkins in _The Wizard of Oz_, Hester and Corbin popped out from their room. Spot now realized that he could tell the two apart. Hester had a chip on his front tooth and Corbin had a sprinkling of freckles on the bridge of his nose.

Hester was clutching a book thrust it into Spot's hands upon reaching the couch.

"Patrick!" Corbin squealed. "Please read it to us? Mama won't let us read it."

Spot looked down to see that it was one of those old adventure novels from the fifties. It showed a man dressed like a composite explorer searching through a mummy's tomb. He rolled his eyes. Jesus.

"Fine," he said. "But don't tell your mom."

"We won't!" they chorused like a couple of Stepford children.

With a happy squeal, they did a little dance in front of Spot who simply rolled his eyes again.

"Stop dancing or I won't read it."

Immediately, they ceased and sat in front of him. Grinning cheekily, they leaned inward.

"Okay. Professor Denton," he paused. "I'm sorry, Devon."

Jesus, his mind was playing tricks on him. Why would _Denton_ be in the mummy book? Then again, he thought he had seen said English teacher while he was watching _Spaceballs_ the other day. Shaking his head, Spot continued.

"Professor Devon had decided long ago that the easiest way to obtain the mummy's treasure was to send his ward and two flunky explorers…"

--

"I'm telling ya, Patrick," Francis told him. "Professor Denton is just gettin' us 't do his dirty work."

He chewed hard on the end of his unlit cigar before spitting it on the floor of the temple. Immediately, he jumped back as if it'd set off a booby trap.

"Well, if he's sending us down here," Patrick said with a smirk. "We'll just help ourselves to a portion of the treasure."

Francis grinned. "If by portion, you mean all of it."

Patrick cackled gleefully. The third member of their party, David, however, seemed nervous.

"Guys," he said, fiddling with his wire-rimmed glasses. "Perhaps we shouldn't be meddling in the affairs of the Pharaoh. There could be a curse on it. In fact, I read somewhere…"

Francis knocked his cap off. "Calm down, Davey. Denton is gonna get his and we're gonna be rich!"

Patrick nodded and they continued on. The caverns were dusty and crumbling and old. Each young man worried that every step would set loose some sort of trap to kill them. Even though Patrick stayed cocky, his heart was racing.

Then they found the treasure room.

"Gold is my new favorite color," Francis breathed.

Immediately, he and Patrick began gathering all the gold they could, stuffing it in their pockets and into their bags. David lingered near the wall, reading the hieroglyphs.

"Guys," he said, a hint of panic in his voice. "Guys. Put the treasure down. I told you it was cursed!"

Francis drew near to the wall where David's lantern illuminated the markings.

"If any treasure leaves this chamber, you will be forever cursed. Every waking step will bring you agony from the great beyond."

"That bites," Francis observed. "'Sides, it probably ain't true."

"I don't want to risk it," David said quietly.

Francis pulled on his black, wide brimmed hat and smirked like a certain famous archaeologist.

"I'll protect ya from the curse," he promised in a manly voice.

Patrick tuned them out as he continued to explore the room. He swept a hand over the walls, fingered some of the ancient cloths. There were jars with animal heads that held internal organs. He picked one up and opened it. What he saw nearly made him ralf. A perfectly preserved heart sat in the bottom of the jar in a smaller box.

"Cool," he heard Francis say. "A mummy."

Patrick turned, still holding the jar, to see Francis and David standing in front of a rather short sarcophagus. There was a small, open chamber on the chest.

"This has got to be the Pharaoh," David said. "Antony."

"Like Marc Antony?" Francis asked, taking in the gold detailing of the tomb.

"Yes," David said. "Professor Denton told me about him. He was seventeen but looked about twelve. Kind of like Patrick."

Patrick gave him a dirty look but went over to the sarcophagus anyway.

"What'd else Denton tell ya?" Francis asked.

"He was murdered by a young man who went by the name of Spot."

"Stabbed? Fire poker up the arse?" Francis pressed.

David tapped his chin as though trying to remember. Patrick realized he was still holding the jar but he didn't put it down.

"He broke his heart," David said. "He was in love with him."

"In love with a boy?" Francis asked. "…Isn't that a mental problem?"

David shrugged. "I don't remember."

"It's not so strange," Patrick snapped.

David and Francis gave him strange looks but he just shrugged.

"What's this hole for?" Francis stuck his hand in and then yanked it back. "I felt something all raspy and dry."

"His heart," David said. "Denton told me that if the heart is returned, he'll rise again to find his true love."

Patrick reached into the jar and locked his hand around the box. He pulled it out and the jar crashed to the floor. It shattered and Francis jumped, throwing his arms around David's shoulders.

"Is this it?" Patrick asked dully, holding up the box that contained the heart.

Francis and David leaned in.

"Yes," David said blithely.

"And, might I add, ew?" Francis queried.

Patrick took it and put it into the hole, sliding it into place. He took a cautious step back, the treasure he still had jingling in a frightened manner.

The top of the sarcophagus fell off to the side as though it were made of papyrus paper and a young man stepped out. He didn't look Egyptian at all. In fact, he looked very overly Italian. He had a small, fox-like face and dark hair.

"Who woke me?" he boomed in an accented voice.

Francis pointed at Patrick. "He did, he did!"

Patrick sent him a sizzling look but instead of killing him, the young Pharaoh walked over to him, putting a hand on his cheek.

"Spot," he said quietly. "My love."

"Your _what_?" David and Francis chorused.

"I'm not Spot," Patrick said. "My name is Patrick Conlon."

"But…" his face was hard. "You look just like him."

He leaned in and kissed him. Patrick felt desire blossom in his chest as he did so.

"Nice," Francis said. "Maybe being loved by a boy ain't that bad."

Antony let Patrick up. "Let us go. And put the treasure back or we'll all die."

"Die?" Francis immediately began emptying his pockets as Patrick did the same.

Francis latched onto David's arm as they left.

"I have a feeling Denton still got his," Francis said with a grin.

"Agreed."

At the door to the treasure room, Antony held Patrick in his arms.

"I thought I'd never see him again," he said. "But now you're here."

"Yeah," Patrick said. "I am."

And the Pharaoh kissed him again…

Spot put the book down. Hester screwed his face up.

"How lame. The mummy thought she was his wife!" he squeaked.

"Yeah," Corbin agreed. "Super lame!"

Spot regretted teaching them that word.

"He shoulda killed 'em but good. Like in that movie!"

Spot shook his head. Bloodthirsty little kids. But he couldn't help but think of how he imagined it. Was Race really on his mind _that_ much?

--

"Hey, Dave." Jack came to sit next to him on the couch.

Les and his two friends were playing a game on Mayer's old NES and David was supposed to be babysitting. Sarah had gone to her maternal class while everyone else was at their respective jobs.

"Hey," he said tiredly, resting his head on his shoulder.

"I have to tell you something," Jack whispered into his ear.

"What?"

Hope flared in his chest. Was Jack going to regret everything he said? Will they go to Berkley together and make love in the hills and eat oranges straight from the tree like something out of a cheesy romance movie?

"I'm going to Europe after graduation," he said with a heavy tone in his voice. "I'm not going to college."

David wrenched his head up. "What?!"

"I'm not going to college, Dave. I've made up my mind. I want you to know that."

"Jack—"

"I'm eighteen and you're not my mother," he snapped, cringing slightly at the mention of his mother. "I don't want to go."

David sighed. "Why?"

"Because I want to see the world. I'm sorry Dave, but it's what I wanna do."

He sighed again. "Fine, whatever. Be like that."

He got up off of the couch and headed into his room.

"Davey?"

He didn't listen to him. Instead, he threw himself onto his old, Digimon bed sheets and grabbed a book off of his nightstand. For some reason, the two guys on the cover reminded him of himself and Jack. Strange, because it was _Rainbow Boys_ and he had read the book before and knew that no one he knew looked like anyone on the cover.

But he was feeling strange.

He put the book back. He didn't feel like reading. He just wanted to stew. Besides, who knew where his mind would wander?


	56. Always Let Abe Lincoln Be Your Guide

"Wait, so you're pissed at Jack because he doesn't want to go to college?" Snitch straightened his tie in the mirror before running an experimental hand through his hair. Snitch rarely did anything about his hair but JPHS had finally gotten its act together and was throwing an actual, semi-formal Homecoming.

"Yes," David replied from Skittery's bed.

Snitch turned around, a hand still locked in his messy hair. "Do you realize how completely fucked up that sounds?"

Skittery laughed. David felt miserable and, from the looks of it, so did Blink. He felt insanely jealous that Skittery and Snitch got to be happy. He didn't even know if Jack was still his date.

"You know what I just realized," Snitch observed. "We're all, like, wearing the same suits. Just with different colored ties. Dude! We're like the Power Rangers!"

Skittery threw a comb at him. "Shut up."

Even Snitch's comments couldn't drag David out of his funk. How could Jack not want to go to college? College equaled a better life, didn't he see that? Why was Jack being so difficult? And what was so great about Europe anyway? His face was drained of all color as he pictured Jack flirting with exotic men. It made him sick.

"I don't want to go," David announced.

"Well, fuck you, you're going," Blink replied in a dull tone.

Snitch rolled his eyes and plopped on the bed. "Jesus, what is _with_ you two?"

Skittery waved a hand. "Forget them. They're sulking. Jack doesn't want to go to college and Mush is insane. Seriously, can't you people have a crisis that doesn't involve your love life?"

Blink sat up and gave his best friend of eighteen years a long, hard glare.

"What?" Skittery glared right back.

"This coming from the guy who tried to kill himself when his boyfriend was a little testy one night."

"Shut up."

Snitch popped up from the bed and grinned. "One night? Oscar's loco all the time!"

Skittery shoved him and the two began to laugh. David frowned. How dare they be happy?

Okay, he scolded himself, stop sounding like a loser. Skittery and Snitch have every right to be happy. He was just a big baby. But so was Jack! And an idiot and…

David sighed. He was getting nowhere with arguing with himself.

"Let's just _go_," Blink said grumpily.

--

Jack waited awkwardly in front of the gym. He didn't know if he and David were still fighting or not. His storming off into his room the night before was a little unsettling. David was a boy who thrived for conflict or, rather, getting his point across and accepted. It wasn't like him just to dart away.

"Jack, I'm cold," Race complained.

"Then go inside."

"No."

He sighed tiredly. "Why not?"

"Because Spot is in there talking to Goldstein."

Jack rolled his eyes. Despite his involvement, he cared nothing for Spot and Race's little spat. If they wanted to act like little girls and not sort things out then it was their problem.

He was just about to say that when he finally saw Skittery's car pull up. First out was Snitch, who was bouncing about crying 'Ben, sweetie?!' at the top of his lungs. Then came Blink Bennetson, looking glum. Goddamnit, where was David?

Finally, he got out of the other side and Jack all but raced over to him.

"Hey, Dave," he said easily.

"Jack."

"Can we talk?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

He figured that that was the best answer he was going to get. He didn't understand why David was so obsessive about college. It was just a place where you went for four years. Like high school but with fewer rules and you were legal. Jack gave a small smile. He already _was_ legal. But that wasn't important now.

"Okay," he said to David once they got to a place that was semi-private.

The house music inside was making the gym walls pound and giving Jack a headache.

"Listen, Dave…" Judging by the look on David's face, the truth was going to get him nowhere. He remembered when he was little and he told Race and Spot that, in order to get things you wanted, you had to "improve the truth". Granted, what he was about to say was an out and out lie…well, David didn't have to know that.

"I've changed my mind," he said easily.

David's eyebrows shot up. "About?"

"College. I've decided to go."

His eyes widened and a smile appeared on his face. "Really?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah. I figured that why run out on the chance for a good thing?"

"Where are you applying?" he asked with more than a hint of excitement in his voice.

Shit. He paused. He remembered reading somewhere that "No man has a good enough memory to be a successful liar" or something like that. It was in history class and they were talking about Abraham Lincoln. "Honest Abe" and all that. Well, Jack had been lying out his ass since he could talk and hadn't gotten caught once. This was evident in the fact that David _still_ didn't know what happened at the party last month. What did Abraham Lincoln know anyway?

"UCLA," Jack blurted out. "And NYU."

David gave him a hug. "If you go to UCLA, we could visit each other."

He smiled and kissed his cheek. "Definitely."

"If I get into Berkley."

He rolled his eyes. "You will. If I can get into college, you can get into college."

David pulled him in for a long kiss and Jack felt something gurgling in his stomach. What was that? It was pulling on him. Tickling like a cricket.

Was it his conscience? It was. And for some reason, his conscience resembled Abe Lincoln. He waved him away. He had no time for the sixteenth president. Besides, when he was little, he thought Lincoln had been black. Jack wasn't quite sure why he remembered that.

"Hey," he said, breaking their kiss. "Let's go back to your friends."

--

Spot waited in line at the refreshment table. Unlike schools that could just have a punch bowl, JPHS had to have a squad of teachers armed with two liter bottles of soda and way too much ice. He had grown tired of Specs's pompous little friends and was trying to avoid Race.

Part of him even wondered why he bothered to come. As the line moved forward, Spot felt a hand on his besuited arm. He turned to see Race looking like a stereotypical, mafia boy. He stifled a laugh.

"Hey," he said dully.

"Hey, back," Race said in an equally dull voice. "You wanna dance?"

He wasn't thirsty at all so he let himself be led out into the gym. He heard that little wench Tina Hooper whispering frantically to Shawnee Flannery who kept a bright grin on his face as he pretended to listen. As Race turned Spot around, he noticed that Shawnee's hand was clasped tightly in the supposedly straight hand of Jake Mathers. Interesting.

"Spot? Are you listening?"

He snapped his head forward. Race had an eyebrow cocked as he awkwardly put his arms around him. They shuffled around the floor for a little bit the way most boys danced together; a little awkward but with a definite rhythm.

"Spot?"

"Yeah."

Race looked deep into his eyes. He couldn't remember seeing him so serious.

"I still lo—like you. A lot," he said quickly.

"So do I."

They were dancing a little faster now and Race's arms were now on his waist. Spot cocked his own brow. This was getting interesting.

"But, dude, what you did was shittier than shitty."

"I know. And…I'm sorry?" Shit. Why did it sound like a question?

Race shrugged. "I did shitty things too. Remember Eli Manic?"

Spot glared. "Yes."

"And you used that Gordon dude to get back at me. And…after you blew off Jack, I kind of screwed around with Eli again."

At the mention of that, Spot started laughing. He couldn't help it. Race joined in too. They fell against each other on the dance floor, simply laughing. They hit the scuffed wood and that got them started all over again.

Once they calmed down, Race spoke again.

"Spot…we fuck each other up too much."

He nodded. "We do."

Race fiddled with a button on his dress shirt and shrugged.

"I want to get back together," he said.

"Me too."

"But…"

"No!" Spot held a hand up. "No buts."

He shook his head. "However…"

"No! 'However' is just a fancy 'but.'"

"Spot, seriously. I want to get back together but," he smirked a little as he said the word. "We don't work."

He pulled himself up into a sitting position. Other dancing couples started knocking around them but neither boy seemed to notice or care.

"What do you mean?"

"We can't stop cheating on each other."

He shrugged. This was true. And, looking at him, he loved Race. He was actually in love with him. But he was right. Neither of them was mature enough for a relationship.

"But we'll stay friends," he promised.

Spot shrugged. "Fine by me. Now help me up. Eva got me this suit and she'll sic Damien and Cujo on me if I get it dirty."

Race laughed and stood, offering Spot his hand.

"Come on, Patrick. Let's go find Jack."

--

Where the hell was Mush?

Blink sat in the gym, feeling depressed. How was he supposed to reaffirm his love for him when he couldn't even _find_ him?

"Stop staring," Snitch advised, nuzzling Swifty with his head of messy hair. "It's creepy."

He gave him a dirty look and kept scanning. He and Snitch were the only ones in their group still together. Skittery and Oscar and David and Jack were out there dancing. Not that Blink was actually hanging out with Snitch at the current moment since he was being grossly cuddly with Swifty.

"Hey, Patches. Wanna dance?"

Luca, looking rather sexy in a Guido type of way, stood in front him. He was smirking slightly and looking at him over his slightly too big nose. Blink smiled.

"Sure."

Luca took his head and led him out onto the floor. A slow song was playing and he felt Luca's hands settle at his waist. Blink put his arms around his shoulders and spotted Snitch glowering at him out of the corner of his eye. He stuck his tongue out over Luca's slightly taller shoulder. Snitch solemnly shook his head.

Shaking him off, Blink looked up into his face and smiled.

"Thanks. How'd you know I was lonely?"

He shrugged. "No clue. Just saw you sitting over there with the cuddle bunch and figured that you needed rescuing."

"My knight," he mused and remembered his little daydream last night. It made him cringe slightly.

"You know, Patches," he continued. "How are things with…"

"Dean," he clarified.

"Dean. How are things with Dean?"

He considered lying but instead he shrugged and sighed.

"I don't know. Things are just…weird. He's been acting so weirdly. And I still love him and…"

He let himself trail off, figuring that Luca was just asking him out of politeness. He smiled apologetically.

"No worries."

Those two words and Blink couldn't help himself. Maybe it was the fact that 'Endless Love' was oozing over from the DJ booth or that he was feeling so conflicted or the fact that he had a hell of weird dream last night but he couldn't strictly chalk it up to that. He tilted his head up a little and kissed Luca full on the mouth. He looked surprised but Blink soon found that he was kissing back.

They stood there for he didn't know how long, just kissing. Blink had kissed possibly two other people in his life: Mush and Bumlets. And Bumlets didn't count because Blink hadn't initiated the kissing. But, even from his somewhat limited experience…Luca was a pretty fine kisser.

"Oops!"

They were jarred apart by a dancing couple. Blink whipped his head around to find that it was Skittery and Oscar. Shit.

Oscar grabbed his cousin's shoulder.

"Asshole," he snapped. "You and me, outside. Now."

He dragged him off and Blink smiled awkwardly at Skittery.

"Hey…"

He grabbed his arm without a word and dragged him back to the bleachers.

"You're lucky Skits came along," Snitch said. "Guess who just came out of the taxi that _just_ pulled up."

Sure enough, Mush came bounding into the gym. Blink quickly checked his hair and rubbed his still flushed cheeks. He noticed that even his suit didn't have long pants and it made his heart hurt. To see him looking so cute.

"Blinky!" he cried jovially, launching into his arms. "Hey, baby!"

He planted an exuberant kiss on his lips and Blink felt dirtier.

"Hello, Mush," Skittery said coldly, his knee pressing into Blink's back.

"Yo," Snitch said almost awkwardly.

Blink shot them blistering glances. Swifty looked a bit uncomfortable but obviously couldn't leave.

"Hey," he said himself, a little awkward. Blink's heart went out to him.

"Sweetie," he said to Mush. "What took you so long?"

He shrugged. "Oh, my parents decided to have a second honeymoon in Europe Thursday."

"What? You've been home alone?" Snitch exclaimed. "And you haven't tried to—"

Skittery elbowed him.

"I mean…cool."

Blink lightly kissed his cheek, feeling positively filthy as he did so.

"Mush, you can't stay by yourself," he said. "You can come stay with…"

He frowned. He couldn't stay with him, his mother had attacked him and, there was barely room enough for the two of them. Skittery had no extra room and if he left him with Snitch, he'd probably have him shipped off to the loony bin. Then…

"Hey guys," David came over, Jackless.

"…David! You can stay with David!"

David glanced around, visibly confused. "What?"

Blink elbowed him. "Mush's parents are out of town and you guys can _totally_ keep him, right?"

He shook his head. "No. Morris lives here now and I share a room with Les and Jack practically lives there. I can't."

He squeezed his arm. "Yes, you can. Please?"

He frantically looked into David's eyes. Blue met blue and the darker haired boy sighed.

"I'll ask my mom. She'll probably say yes, though. Now that I've come out, she wants to surround herself with children. It's pretty creepy."

Blink hugged him tightly. "Thanks."

Mush squealed and hugged David too. "Thanks so much! I've only been to your house once. Your sister's pregnant right? I can totally help with that! As my Rabbi says…"

He rabbited on for a bit and Blink noticed David giving him a significant look. He responded with one that firmly said 'I'll explain later' and he sighed.

While Mush gushed, he slumped back against the bleachers and touched his lips. He had kissed Luca. Not like with Bumlets where he hadn't wanted it. He had initiated it and he had wanted it.

And he had liked it.


	57. Dashikis, Rumors and Labor

David came home to tantric music being pumped from his stereo system. Quirking a brow, he dropped his keys onto the table and went in further to investigate.

"David, why is someone murdering stray cats in your house?" Jack came up behind him, his hands over his ears.

"_Shalom!_" a jovial voice called.

David and Jack exchanged a surprised look when they noticed that the voice was female and, thus, did not belong to David's newest houseguest. They walked into the living room to find Mush in the lotus position and Sarah trying to do the same. It would have been rather humorous: watching her struggle with that big bubble in front of her, but they were too busy being horrified.

"Jack…" David started.

"Yes?"

"We are never going over to Skittery's again while Mush is staying here."

"Word."

Mush leapt up from his spot on the floor and turned off the music.

"Hey, guys!" he chirped. "Sorry I didn't go with you all to hang out but I felt like meditating. And then Sarah came out and joined me. We asked Morris to come but he told us to 'fuck off' and then went back into her room."

He finished that verbal squall with a large smile.

"This Kabbalah stuff is really interesting," Sarah added.

"Sarah, we're _already_ Jewish."

She just gave him a confused look. David shook his head and went into his room, Jack following him.

Once they were in there, he sidestepped Mush's air mattress on the floor and plopped onto his bed.

"Alright, I definitely see Snitch and Skittery's argument here," he said to his ceiling. "He seriously needs professional help."

Jack nodded. "Oh, yeah. And now Sarah's in on it too."

David sat up and shook his head.

"Nah. Hers is probably because she's pregnant and has all of those hormones and whatnot. Mush is just cuckoo."

"And not for Coco Puffs."

"Not funny, Jack."

--

Snitch cuddled against Swifty and hit play on the DVD player. He tilted his head up for a kiss just as his phone rang. He recognized the name on the screen and flipped it open angrily.

"Skits, this better be pretty damn important."

"Hello to you, too!" he cried in an overly jolly voice.

Great, Skittery was drunk. Swifty hit pause and smiled at him.

"What is it?" he asked tiredly. "I'm busy."

"Doing what? You're a virgin."

He scowled and was about to throw the phone across the room but realized that his mother would probably use the broken phone as an enema if he did so.

"I'm watching a movie with Swifty."

"What mooovie?" he giggled.

Snitch sighed and rubbed his sinus area tiredly. What was up with Skittery? Then it dawned on him. The anniversary of his less-than-satisfactory first kiss with Oscar was yesterday: Homecoming. They were probably celebrating that tonight. Meaning they were both drunk. His mind reeled at the prospect of a drunken Oscar and hoped, for Skittery's sake, that he was a fun drunk.

"We're watching part one of _The Stand_."

"Ooh! Hey!" he heard the volume lower and assumed he was yelling to someone else in the room. "Snitch is actually watching a good movie!"

There was much cackling heard and Snitch shook his head.

"I'm going to hang up now," he warned. "You didn't even invite me to come drinking."

There was a bumping sound under the phone, which he guessed was Skittery shrugging.

"You're busy being a married woman," he slurred. "But we'll invite you next time. Hee, you'd be pissed…in the other sense. Blink's here and he's totally making out with Luca!"

"WHAT?!"

There was a long pause. Blink was unbelievable. He was drunkenly making out with someone when his boyfriend was sitting innocently in David's apartment.

"Okay, bye-bye Snitchy. I gotta go now. I love you!"

There was a click and Snitch dropped his phone onto the table. Swifty put his arms around him and nuzzled his neck lightly.

"Not a good call?"

"Nope."

He hit play and kissed the top of his head.

"Wanna fool around while we watch the movie?"

Snitch grinned up at him. "Why, Benjamin Lee, you're using sex as a weapon."

"More like a coping tool but, yes. And it's not sex, my dear."

He shrugged. "Whatever. Let me just pull your bananaphone."

Swifty kissed him. "I will if you never call it that again."

"Deal."

--

Specs sat in first period, reading silently. He was feeling restless. The Dutchy problem hadn't solved itself. He had been sober since their strange night and, quite frankly, it was frightening him a little.

"Hey, Goldstein."

He glanced up to see Spot coming into his seat and smiling his smirky smile at him.

"Oh, hey, Spot."

Spot slid easily into his seat and began to tap his feet on the tray under the desk in front of him. Despite his usual aversion to gossip, everyone was talking about Spot and Race at the dance. They had looked rather buddy-buddy and, of course, there were rumors that they were back together.

"You seem less pissed off today," he observed.

Spot gave him a leveling look with his creepily intense eyes and Specs regretted saying it.

"You think?" The look turned back into a smirk. "Maybe 'cause I'm not pissed anymore."

"So it's true?"

He cocked a brow. "What's true?"

"That you and Race are back together. Tina Hooper hasn't been shutting up about how she saw you two making out at the dance."

He burst into laughter. It was a strange sight for Specs who had never known the sound to ever come from Spot.

"No," he said once the laughter subsided. "We're not together. We're way too fucked up to function as a couple."

"Oh."

"Why would you believe Tina Hooper anyway? Fucking bitch never knows what she's talking about."

He shrugged sheepishly as if that were answer enough. Spot shook his head again.

"Goldstein, sometimes I wonder if those glasses are just a front for someone who's really stupid."

--

Blink walked sullenly through the hallways, his head bowed and his books tucked into his arms. He felt fucked. Thoroughly fucked. Fucked and dirty.

It was Skittery's fault. If he hadn't dragged him with him to go see Oscar, telling his dad that they were going to the library, he wouldn't have gotten crocked and made out with Luca for an hour.

Fuck. It wasn't Skittery's fault at all. _He_ had gotten drunk and _he_ had initiated the kissing. He was so _screwed_. Especially if—

"Blink! Blinky!"

Fuck.

Mush threw his arms around him from behind and Blink felt the cool press of silk around his midsection. He turned and his good eye nearly bugged from his socket.

"What are you wearing?" he demanded, guilt momentarily replaced by shock.

Instead of his uniform Inter Milan shirt, Mush wore a loose, long-sleeved shirt that billowed loosely over his brown cargo shorts, which were—thankfully—still present. It had an ornate v-collar with embroidery on the neck and sleeve lines.

"A _dashiki_," Mush said proudly. "They're from Africa! I gotta embrace my roots."

Mush's mother was from Jamaica and _not_ Africa but Blink felt it best not to bring that up considering his current state.

"Plus, I feel so…_spiritual_ in this shirt." He flapped his arms so the sleeves billowed about.

He felt bile reflexively rise to his throat. Mush's apparent mysticism was wearing on his last nerve. No, not just wearing. It was sawing, gnawing and obliterating his last nerve.

He saw someone walking towards them and he seized Mush by one _dashiki_'d arm.

"Sweetie. Hey, go save me a seat at the table, okay?" He brushed his lips against his and all but shoved him towards the cafeteria.

Luca neared him, leaning his broad-shouldered frame against the bay of lockers.

"Don't make him disappear just for my benefit," he said with a grin.

Blink couldn't help it, he grinned back. Luca leaned down to kiss him but he retracted a little.

"Uh-oh," he said in a low voice. "I know that move."

He gave a weak smile and wrung his hands.

"Luca…I…like you."

He cocked a brow over a bruised eye. "Really? Because I couldn't tell."

He laughed shakily. "Yeah but…Mush needs me right now. I mean, you've seen him he's not…"

"Mentally sound?"

_No_. _He's just spiritual. He's normal! Normal!_

"…well. And…I still care about him."

He paused. Was that even still true? Yes, he did still love him but was it love by attraction or obligation since they had been dating for so long? An interesting conundrum indeed.

Luca was silent for a moment, his arms crossed over his chest and his face pulled into a look of reflection. Finally, he eased up off of the lockers and shrugged.

"Okay."

"…What?"

"Okay. You still like the little weirdo and I get that. I can wait…" he smirked. "I _guess_."

The guilt didn't leave but a smile lit upon his face. "Thanks!"

Luca leaned down and pecked his cheek.

"Okay…now tell me…why is your eye bruised?"

"Oh this?" he rubbed it lightly with one hand. "Oscar, once sober, realized what we did and punched me in the face."

He gulped.

"I see…"

"Yeah…I expect Skittery gave you a similar-yet-nonviolent beat down?"

"No…he was too hungover to do anything."

"Lucky you."

Blink smiled and realized that he had to get out of there before he jumped on Luca and welded their mouths together. He gave a curt smile and ducked into the lunchroom.

--

"Ha! Go fish!" Jack proclaimed, throwing his cards on the table.

David glanced up from his own hand and cocked a brow. "Jack, we're playing Gin Rummy."

Les giggled behind his palm and Jack sent him a sizzling glare. It was a quiet night. His parents were out—much to David's relief—Morris was at work, Sarah was in her room doing whatever and the only sound was the low buzz of the TV as Les watched cartoons. Mush was meditating in David's room and hadn't made a peep all night. To be honest, David had been peaking in every half hour to make sure that he was still alive.

"Seriously, Dave. Let's stop this card game and have sex!"

He pulled a face. "Where? Every room is occupied."

A wry grin played on his boyfriend's lips and David read it immediately.

"No! My dad still doesn't speak to me. We are _not_ having sex in their bed!"

Before he could answer, Sarah mewled from her room.

"David?"

"Just a minute!" he yelled over his shoulder before turning back to Jack. "No! No sex!"

"David?"

"He said 'just a minute!'" Jack called.

"_David?!_"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Go see her."

David went to rise from the table but Sarah was already at her door. Her hair stuck to her face, which was red and sweaty. Her legs trembled and her eyes were wide and scared.

"What?" he asked, impatient mood gone and replaced with icy fear.

"There's a stain on the floor!" Sarah sobbed.

The fear left and the impatient one came back.

"I'll get the Clorox…"

He turned to go into the kitchen but, evidently, Sarah wasn't done.

"No! A stain from…_me_!"

"What?"

Jack jumped up from the table and glanced into her room. He wrinkled his nose and waved a hand in front of his face.

"What?" David repeated.

"Dude." Jack put an arm around his waist. "Sarah's water just broke."

--

**Notes:** This chapter ate my SOUL and, hey, look, stuff!

Quiz: 


	58. David as in Davey and Goliath?

**A/N: **I'm not dead? Yes, it's been over a month and a half since I've updated but I've been blocked. And I have four men to blame for that. Their names are David, Peter, Robert and George but they also go by Davy, Peter, Mike and Micky. Yes, I have become ridiculously obsessed with The Monkees. Ridiculously. This will be pretty evident in this chapter.

I've managed to turn out two stories (and only one being decent) in this time. They are both on my writing journal—the link is in my profile—so give them a read if you wish.

Since I don't want to fill up the closing chapters of DAMY with random filler, there will be a time jump in this chapter. I originally planned for this to take place directly after last chapter but that didn't work out. This is about three weeks later. There is also allusion to events that happened between then that I didn't think needed to be written.

Now, enough with my babbling. Onto the chapter.

--

Spot parked Eva's Lincoln in front of the house in Queens and blinked at it. It was a small, simple two-story with a low, chain link fence and a scrubby lawn. He was surprised. When he had been told that Hester and Corbin were to be brought to their friends' house, he thought it was another penthouse. He had most certainly _not_ been expecting this little number.

Children were running around out a front. A little girl with blonde hair chased after a redhead boy, shaking a headless Barbie doll after him while he laughed his freckly little head off. Hester stuck his head out the window and waved exuberantly. Immediately, the two kids stopped and waved back. Both twins were out of the car in a flash and bounding up the walk.

Spot got out casually and a feeling of dread encased him. He was going to be the only babysitter for all of the kids. He felt his heart lodge in his throat. Why did he even still _have_ this job?

A woman with wild blonde hair streaked with gray came hustling out the door, carrying a hemp bag under one arm.

"Are you Patrick?" she asked in a husky voice.

"…Yes."

"Eva told me you were coming." She smiled. "The kids are inside. They're usually calm. Boulder and I never get to go out anymore because we're the unofficial daycare here for everyone. Thank you again."

She hustled past Spot and turned to go to her garage, leaving his mind reeling. Daycare? More kids? And who the fuck was _Boulder_?

The two kids that Hester and Corbin greeted smiled up at him.

"I'm Shannon!" the girl chirped. "And that's Robbie. He's a j-word 'cause he stealed my Barbie and tore her head off."

Robbie grinned up, showing a gap-toothed grin. Spot smirked back.

"That's fantastic," he deadpanned.

Hester and Corbin grabbed his hands. "Come meet the others!"

He let them drag him into the house where the smell of stale cereal and baby wipes greeted him. A brown-haired boy who looked much younger than the rest of them was crawling near a stack of magazines, picking them up and staring at the pictures.

"That's Daniel," Hester said. "He's from England 'n he talks funny."

"And you have a funny name, Cujo."

"I thought I was Damien." Hester screwed up his face.

"No, stupid, _I'm_ Damien," Corbin put in.

"I'm not stupid, stupid!"

Spot rolled his eyes and sat on the threadbare couch. He was such a fantastic babysitter. Not getting involved in their fight at all and such.

"Nuh-uh! I'm not stupid!"

"Yeah-huh!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yeah-huh!"

_Alright_, he mused. _Maybe it's time to intervene._

Spot was to rise when he noticed a little boy on the far side of the room, standing on his head.

"That's my brother, Peter," Shannon explained. "He and his friend Teodor always do that weird yoga-y stuff. My mommy taught them."

"That's terrific," he deadpanned.

Shannon and Robbie stared at him for a few seconds, their little faces obviously not recognizing the sarcasm. Hester and Corbin had apparently given up on their fight and had joined them.

Finally, Shannon shook her head before seizing Robbie's arm.

"Come on, let's go play in my room."

The two scampered off and if Spot didn't know better, he could have thought to see Corbin follow their progression with his eyes, looking about as jealous as a five-year-old with an eight-digit trust fund could look.

"Losing your brains?" a small voice piped up behind him.

_Jesus Christ. Another kid?_

Spot craned his neck over the couch to see a minute little girl with crazily curly brown hair in two pigtails.

"People can't lose their brains," he said to her tiredly.

To his surprise, she rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

She vaulted over the couch with a surprising amount of flexibility and plopped next to him.

"They're not so bad," she said. "'Cept Robbie. He's kind of a, you know."

"A 'you know'?" Spot cocked a brow.

"A douche bag."

He blinked his eyes in shock. The feeling registered a half a beat after he felt it. He couldn't remember a time in his recent past where he was shocked. The last time was probably when he was five and learned that there was a skeleton in his body.

"…A what?"

The little girl just smiled a baby-toothed grin at him. "I'm Claudia."

"Patrick."

"I know. Our parents kind of use you as their bitch, don't they?"

"Watch your mouth."

She tapped her lower lip with one finger.

"Okay…but can I watch yours too? You got a cool thing in your tongue."

Spot rolled his eyes and decided it was best not to answer her. Instead he looked over at Peter who was still standing on his head. His face was starting to redden a little.

"Is he going to be alright?"

Claudia shrugged. "Probably. So…can I see your tongue thingy?"

"Sure," he relented. "Why not?"

--

"So, was it a boy or a girl?" Skittery asked, stretching out on his pathologically clean white leather couch.

"Boy," David replied. "Allen Giovanni."

"Ooh, I can smell the hair gel and chintzy, gold jewelry already."

"Snitch, how can you _smell_ chintzy, gold jewelry?"

"Shut up, whore-face!"

David rolled his eyes. During their entire time at Skittery's house, Snitch had been alternately calling Blink a slut or a whore or a skank or some other word synonymous to that.

He, on the other hand, was roiling in anger. Jack had lied to him. Again. He had gone to his apartment to meet him and it had been one of those rare occurrences that his father was _actually_ home. David had asked him about Jack's college applications. Not only did his dad not know about it—as was to be expected—but apparently what he _did_ know was that Jack was looking up ticket prices to Europe.

"So, Davey." Snitch glanced up from his seat. "I know it's been two hours since we got here but I've been dying to ask…what the hell are you doing?"

David glanced up from the forms and papers in front of him, grinning widely.

"I came up with the perfect plan to get Jack into college."

Snitch sat up straight, glaring at him. "What? _You_ came up with a cockamamie plan?! Those are _mine_! Stop stealing my thunder!"

"It's not cockamamie, Snitch. I'm just filling out applications to various colleges. Jack is smart. He took AP English."

"…Didn't he _fail_ AP English?"

David shook his head. "Colleges don't care about that. They just care if you _took_ the class."

"Says Mr. 4.3 GPA…" Skittery rolled his eyes.

Blink rolled onto his stomach and peeked over the arm of the couch to watch David's progress.

"Isn't that illegal?"

David's eyes clouded over the mention of the legality of the situation and he felt the color drain slightly from his face.

"N-no…" he stammered. "Not if I get someone else sign his name."

He looked pointedly at Skittery. The other boy leapt back and held his hands up.

"Come on, Skits. I can't do it. I'm already semi-breaking the law here. I don't want to have forgery up against me too!"

"_Semi­_-breaking the law?" Blink smirked.

Snitch hit him, obviously still peeved. He then rolled off of the couch and crawled over to where David sat. Casually, he leafed through the applications, mouthing the words of the colleges. Finally, he put down the pages.

"I don't know, _Davey_," he said in a deep, almost Barney-sounding voice.

"How long have you been holding _that_ one in?" Skittery queried.

"You have no idea."

Skittery rolled his eyes before jumping from the couch himself and snatching the applications.

"We are not going to be bound by this stuff. This boyfriend shit. We are going to hang out like friends. I'm not going to talk about Oscar, Snitch isn't being gross with Swifty, David isn't committing a felony and we won't mention the fact that Blink is a stupid, cheating whore."

The blonde chucked a leather throw pillow at him, which Skittery artfully dodged. He made his way back to the floor and plopped down.

"We will just hang out," he said with an air of finality.

The clock could be heard ticking in the kitchen. Blink glanced at Snitch who glanced at Skittery who then looked at David who looked back at him. The clock ticked on. Blink noiselessly drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch. David shifted uncomfortably from his cross-legged position.

"So…" Snitch said.

"Yeah…" Blink mumbled.

They fell silent once more. The clock ticked and tocked away. David glanced at Skittery. Skittery glanced at Snitch. Snitch glared at Blink. Blink stuck his tongue out. The cycle continued.

Finally, after an eternity had gone by, Snitch spoke.

"So…who wants to watch _Head_?"

--

Jack put Allen back in his crib. He grasped at the sleeves of his denim jacket with little, red baby fists.

"Sarah, your son looks like he's wearing a toupee," he remarked.

"Shut up, Jack."

"I didn't say it was a bad thing but, fuck, he has a lot of hair for a baby."

Sarah hit him roughly on the arm.

"Language, Jack!"

He rolled his eyes dramatically. Allen gurgled.

"So," he started. "Your brother's pissed at me because I lied about college."

"Mhm." Sarah started to tidy around the room, picking up Morris's work shirts and tossing them in the hamper near the door.

Jack threw himself onto the bed, hearing the springs in the mattress give a groan. The rusted coils were probably older than both Sarah and Morris put together.

"I mean, yeah, I shouldn't have lied or whatever but…he shouldn't be so hung up about it!"

"Mhm."

"Okay, so I lied to get laid but what guy hasn't? David just has this perfect image of life. This map. High school to college. But I don't have that. I wanna see the world. Go places."

"Mhm."

"I'd want him to come with me but no way would he give up on college. I could wait but what would I do? Sit around with my thumb up my ass for four years? Maybe even more if he goes to grad school."

"Mhm…Jack?"

He sat up. "Yeah?"

"Why are you talking to _me_ about this?"

--

Snitch hit the pause button. "Alright, Blink. This can't go on any longer. You can't keep giving us sketchy answers. Who are you gonna choose?"

"I don't want to."

"You have to choose. Just pick one! It's not that hard!"

"I don't know!"

"How can you not know? You have to know. Pick between them, man. It'll make things a whole lot easier."

"Snitch, just lay off!"

"He's right, Blink," Skittery chimed in. "You're going to have to choose."

"It's not that important!"

"Of course it is! It's way more important than you're giving it credit for, you stupid slut. Just pick one!"

"I. Don't. Know!"

Snitch jabbed a finger at the screen. "It's not that hard, Blink! Which Monkee do you want to bang?!"

"I don't know!"

"Pick one!"

"Fine, Mike!"

"Really?" He screwed up his face. "His sideburns freak me out. They flare."

"You know, our initials are both MN," Skittery said. "…_And_ my name's Michael."

"Mike seems like the type Skittery would want," David added.

He shook his head. "Nah, I gotta go with Davy. He's short, so he'd try harder in the sack to compensate for that."

David nodded sagely despite his lack of experience. "Oh, yeah. Hey, and my initials are the same as _his_. DJ…and my name's David. Creepy. Anyway, I'd go with Peter. His hair reminds me of Jack's."

Snitch clutched the remote to his chest and fell to the ground.

"I love his hair. It's so beautiful."

Blink poked him in the side. "Now, what about you?"

Snitch sat up, grinning cheekily. "We're making it easy on ourselves, we each want one. I'd go with Micky. He's funny. And amazing."

"That's because you _are_ Micky." Skittery rolled his eyes. "You're both outlandish clowns."

Snitch's grin widened. "I know!"

He kicked Blink in the leg lightly.

"I thought you'd go for him too seeing how much your boyfriend looks like him. If he's even your boyfriend anymore."

"Shut up, Snitch."

"Have you even spoken to him since you handed him off to David?"

"Shut up, Snitch!"

He opened his mouth as if he were about to levy another insult Blink's way but David grabbed the remote and hit play.

"Let's just watch the movie," he suggested. "The dandruff bit is coming up."

Blink sighed and shot David a grateful look. As he settled back, he couldn't help but feel troubled. Snitch was right, for once. He did have to choose…and it wasn't which former teen idol from the sixties he would plow.


	59. We're Nocturnal!

"Blink, Mush has a spiritual connection with my nephew."

Blink glanced up from his lunch, too surprised to even pluck the cucumber off of David's salad.

"What?"

David sat down and opened his carton of milk. He drank from it before answering.

"Mush has a spiritual connection with my nephew. He told me. He also told me that he liked to meditate naked…" he paused. "Although in that one, he didn't so much _tell_ me as _show_ me."

"Thanks. You are terrific for telling me that."

"Any time."

Blink sighed and rested his head on his arms. Mush's increased weirdness was starting to get to him. Maybe Snitch and Skittery were right; maybe he _did_ need psychiatric help.

"Are you feeling guilty because you want to bone Luca?" David asked, and then he screwed his face up. "Sorry, I haven't slept a full night in three weeks. I'm starting to sound like Snitch."

He shook his head. "I don't know what I feel anymore. Honestly…I find myself no longer caring about Mush's increased weirdness. Hell, I don't even care about Luca anymore. I just…don't care."

At that moment, Snitch plunked his tray down. He smirked at Blink. "Today's mood, apathetic."

Blink threw him an icy glare but that was about all he could muster. He could explain his recent apathy. It had come over like a shock wave. Maybe it was because it was midterms and he was not looking forward to two weeks alone with his mother. Luckily, they had her on a new medicine that was keeping her mostly normal. But the pills were expensive and her disability could only pay for so much.

Luca had also been avoiding him. There were probably two reasons for his avoidance. One, he was probably being the responsible guy he appeared to be and giving Blink space until he sorted out his Mush problem. The other reason was most likely that Oscar threatened him severely and Luca had the gall to have grown attached to his internal organs.

"Where _is_ Mush anyway?" Snitch queried, popping open his milk carton.

"Home…well, my home," David replied. "He wanted to spend time with Allen."

"He's not going to graduate. I mean, Mr. Genius Mc1560 over here." Snitch jabbed David in the ribs. "Could afford to miss a few days but Mush had the intelligence of a kumquat _before_ he went _loco_. He's going to bomb his classes."

Blink glared at him. Snitch smiled innocently and drank his milk.

He had to admit, the little ass was right. If he still cared at all for Mush, he'd have to get him to come to school or do something. He wasn't going to graduate if he kept this up.

He'd talk to him tonight. Maybe he'd talk to him about other things too.

--

Spot crossed his arms on the white, plastic deckchair. He felt unneeded. His job for his one-man daycare today seemed to be watching them be taught to swim by one of the kids' father. The boy was a tiny little thing with a snaggle tooth named Ferris. The kids were sitting on the edge of the pool, kicking their skinny legs and splashing each other. Except for Claudia who was perched near Spot with her skinny little arms crossed over Tweetie Bird's face on her bathing suit.

Spot watched Corbin sitting near Shannon and smiling brightly at her while she talked to the redheaded boy, Robbie. Robbie, Spot noted, had to be the only tanned redhead he had ever seen. He also laughed at the fact that Damien looked entirely jealous. Cujo, however, was violently kicking his legs into the water and causing a general ruckus. The tiny, British boy, Daniel, looked extremely put off and responded by kicking back.

Spot smirked. The father really had no control. He had the zinc oxide smeared all over his nose and even a shiny whistle around his neck. Spot could only hope that he was a former lifeguard and the accessories weren't just for fun.

"Hey!" he called over. "Identical Uno! Stop splashing the limey!"

Hester stopped his splashing and the father glared in his direction. Spot leveled him with a glare of his one.

"We're not identical," he said with the matter-of-factness that only a five-year-old could have. "Mommy had us tested."

Corbin stopped his jealous gazing and nodded energetically.

"Yeah. We're not identical. We're nocturnal!"

Spot looked at Claudia who rolled her eyes almost as expertly as he did.

"You scare me," he said to her.

"At least I'm not nocturnal," she countered.

She was too much like him. It was scary.

--

Jack was avoiding David. It wasn't hard. He had a car and he could just go straight home. With any luck, he could probably avoid him through winter break. They had no classes together this year at all so he could avoid running into him at midterms.

He just didn't want to face him after the college thing. He was pissed at David for being pissed at him and thinking that he couldn't make his own decisions. Who really cared about college other than him? No one he could think of. Maybe the teachers but who gave two shits what they thought? So avoiding David was a great decision.

But Jack faced a problem. He had no one to hang out with.

He and Race had slowly been drifting apart because Jack had spent too much time with David. Spot had been ignoring him since the school year began and was playing Mary Poppins to a bunch of kids in Queens. Other than David's friends who he sometimes would pal around with, he really had no one to hang out with. It's not like he could just call up Newcomb because he was David's best friend. Same with Bennetson and Rizzio. So he was royally screwed.

He was royally screwed _and_ at the mercy of she-beast and his father.

"Hey, Jack."

He hadn't noticed several things during his reverie. One was that he had started walking towards home without taking his car. The other was that a fancy-ass Town Car had pulled up next to him with Spot behind the wheel. The back windows were open and two, soaked blonde boys were sitting wrapped in towels while a completely dry girl sat as far away from them as possible.

"Heya, Spot." He wiped the spaced look from his face and leaned down so his arms rested on the window. "Where ya headin'?"

"Fifth Avenue to drop Damien and Cujo off. Then home. Claudia lives in Williamsburg so I'm dropping her off too."

Jack could only assume that the little girl was Claudia.

"Cool…I left my car at the school. Luckily it's a piece of shit or else I'd be worried someone would steal it."

"Oh…"

Spot tapped the wheel and stared ahead, not looking at Jack. Apparently, he wasn't able to go back to being on friendly terms after he sucked him off in a bedroom when Jack was wasted.

"…Wanna ride?" It wasn't Spot who asked. It was one of the little blonde boys. Jack had met them once before in the park a long ass time ago and couldn't tell the difference.

"Hester," Spot scolded, not looking back there.

"You can tell them apart by their voices?"

"Yeah." His eyes never left the windshield. "I guess you can get in if you want, Cowboy. But it'll be out of the way."

Jack shook his head. "Nah. I'll just walk some more. It's not that far."

"Alright."

Spot shrugged and the car zoomed away. Jack tucked his hands in his pockets and continued on his way.

--

Blink sat on the worn plaid of his couch, reading _1984_ for class and feeling alone. Not that he was alone literally. His mother was passed out in her bedroom and snoring rather loudly. But he felt alone. Isolated from his friends and relationships. He was a mess, he knew.

He almost felt as though he were in a state of arrested development. Skittery had told him that Oscar had formed a band with some kids from Jersey, including Luca. They were going on tour and Skittery was going with them. Snitch had said something about moving to Florida after graduation with Swifty. David was moving all the way across the fucking country to go to college. And what was he doing? Nothing. He had no plans, no chance for maturity.

He was wallowing and he _knew_ he was wallowing but he couldn't stop. Maybe he'd end up like his mother. Drunk, high, horny and sad. Maybe not. Maybe he should call Mush. They needed to talk.

As if answering his mind, his cell phone began to ring. An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen. Confused but not even intrigued, he answered it.

"Hello?"

"Is this Alex Bennetson?" A thickly accented male voice asked.

"Yeah…"

"I'm calling about a one, Dean Meyers. He asked us to call you. As did the apparent person he was staying with, David Jacobs."

Blink furrowed his brown in confusion. "Okay…who is this?"

"This is Officer Dizzini. We have Dean in the psychiatric ward here at Lennox Hill."

--

Blink slammed through the double doors and into the harsh light. David was sitting on one of the hard plastic chairs accompanied by Sarah and Morris. Sarah held the too-large-to-be-a-teenager's-baby Allen in her arms.

"What happened?" he demanded, out of breath.

"Mush came to me," Sarah explained. "And said that Allen communicated with him telepathically. Then he ran out of the apartment."

"That kid is fucked up," Morris said, shaking his head. "He was wearing his underwear and, like, nothing else when he left."

"He was in Time Square, trying to convert the sinners," David finished. "In his underwear."

Blink felt the air whoosh out of him as he collapsed onto a chair. He felt…empty. There was nothing there.

"They're transferring him to some fancy hospital upstate. I called Skittery. He recognized the name. I guess it's where he went."

He nodded numbly. "Can we see him?"

Sarah shook her head. "They said no. They gave him a shot of a hard to pronounce drug and said he'd be out of it for a good while."

Blink cradled his head in his hands. Vaguely, he felt someone—David, probably—sit next to him and stroke his back. Things were so fucked up.

And it wasn't even midyear yet.


	60. The Resurrection of a Dead Queen

There was a horrible clanging sound going through Spot's head. He clutched a throw pillow to his ears but it was to no avail. The shuddering of a subway was shooting through his ears. He didn't know it was possible to feel the effects of a hangover when he didn't even drink.

Someone was incessantly prodding him in the side too, calling his name.

"Patrick, Patrick, Patrick!"

With an anguished cry, Spot sat up and threw the pillow across the room. It not only made his point but utterly terrified Peter who had been the one doing the poking.

"What?" he snapped.

"Robbie's the one making the noise!" Shannon bounded over and threw her arms around her brother's shoulders. "He's in the kitchen!"

Sighing, Spot rose and headed into the kitchen, the other set of twins behind him. Robbie was wearing a colander on his head while banging away at two upturned pots with wooden spoons. What surprised Spot more than the fact that his banging wasn't all that bad was what he was singing.

"We're Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band!" he screamed in his high, Chipmunk-like voice. "We hope you will enjoy the show!"

Spot reached forward and seized one of his spoons.

"That's enough out of you, Ringo Starr."

Robbie screwed his face up and crossed his arms over his chest. Spot rolled his eyes.

"That's not gonna work on me, Ringo. Now stop with the drumming before I use your head for a snare."

Robbie threw down his colander hat in anger and stormed from the kitchen. Shannon twittered in delight and skipped after him. Peter had a kind of spaced out look on his face and, if he hadn't been five and it wouldn't have been impossible, looked a bit stoned.

"Peter," Spot tried a reasonable tone. "Either help me clean up the pots or go stand on your head doing yoga more or whatever it is you and Teodor do."

He blinked his weirdly colored eyes.

"Peter…"

"Otay!" he said exuberantly.

What was exactly "otay" Spot wasn't entirely sure. But Peter dropped to his hands and knees and started to grab the handles of pots. There was a small fluttering in his heart and Spot paused. Was he having an emotional moment for these kids? Damien and Cujo, sure, but these kids? He'd only been watching them since…Spot paused. Had it been since October? Jesus, the year was going by too fast. Already spring break was next week. Then just a couple more weeks before graduation. And Spot still had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. He couldn't watch these kids forever.

"Psh," he muttered. "Like I want to."

He watched Peter struggle with the pots and grabbed a few from him.

"Go play with Teodor," he told him.

"Otay."

Peter dropped his pots and pans with a mighty clang and sprinted outside. It was just starting to warm up. Spot glanced through the screen door to see him and curly-haired Teodor sitting on the patio with paint and brushes, ready to draw on each other. It brought a smile to his face. One he couldn't understand.

"Heya, Spot." The voice behind him was so sudden that Spot dropped his own pots.

He whirled around to see Jack leaning against the counter.

"Cowboy, you scared the fuck out of me!"

Jack just smirked.

"How'd you find here anyway?"

"I called up that Fifth Avenue chick. Said you were here."

Spot didn't know what to do. He could bend down and continue picking up the pots while utterly ignoring Jack. Or he could face him like a man.

"Spot, I'm leaving soon and we need to sort some shit out."

Decision made. Spot scowled and crossed his arms.

"Go on."

"We were best friends," Jack said. "And I don't wanna leave New York without us still being that."

Simple, straightforward, so utterly Jack-like. Spot had to smile.

"Fine. Deal."

"Wanna spit on it?"

He rolled his eyes. "We aren't seven, Kelly. Now either help me with the kids or get the fuck out. This house is crowded."

Jack moseyed into the living room where Claudia and the Waldorf twins sat, coloring. Hester kept trying to steal Claudia's crayons while she beat him away with a pillow. Spot watched as Jack plopped onto the couch before sliding onto the carpet with the kids and grabbing a crayon.

"Alright," he said with a grin. "What're we coloring?"

Spot rolled his eyes and cleaned up the pots and pans. When he got back into the living room, Jack was coloring with the precision of an artist on a coloring page of a rabbit brandishing an enormous carrot.

"So why haven't you and David patched things up?" he asked idly, sitting down across from him on the floor. Before Jack answered, Shannon went screaming by with Robbie after her. Spot held his arm back to catch Robbie around the middle before yanking him over to where they sat. Daniel bounded over and snatched some crayons and the two boys began coloring together.

"We've just been busy." Jack didn't even bother to look up. "Besides, he's at the loony bin visiting Mush today with Skittery, Blink and Snitch."

"Ah," Spot nodded like he cared about what David was doing. "Talk it out, man. You talked to me. Talk to David. Just…talk to him."

He paused. Words tended to lose meaning the more he used them. Talk. Funny.

"He'll understand," he said despite having no real knowledge of David's temperament nor his capacity to understand.

"Yeah…and I'm Mary Queen of Scots."

Spot laughed.

"What?"

"I just…haven't heard that in a while."

--

"Hey, Skits. Ain't these your old stompin' grounds?"

"Shut up, Snitch."

"Come on, man. Tell us how we can get the good JELL-O."

"Shut up, Snitch."

"You know, this is getting really old. The telling me to shut—"

"SHUT UP, SNITCH!" the other three shouted in unison.

Snitch frowned and crossed his arms. If he had been sitting, slumping would be the next step. They had been standing in front of the reception desk at the mental ward for nearly twenty minutes. Ten minutes full of the receptionist asking who they wanted to see and another ten minutes of her threatening to call security. Blink kept saying that he wasn't ready. Snitch had said that it had been four months and he sure as hell should be ready. The two hadn't been speaking since.

Blink took a deep breath. "I don't know if I can do this. What if he's completely different?"

"Of course he's completely different," Snitch said. "He's pumped full of meds."

David and Skittery glared at him.

"Shut up, Snitch!" he yelled at himself.

Skittery put his version of a sympathetic face on and put a hand on Blink's shoulder.

"Man, Mush is bipolar. He's going to be different."

"_Acute_," Blink reminded him. "He's _acutely_ bipolar."

"Trust Mush to have an adorable sounding mental problem."

Another glare sent in his direction.

"You know, you'd think I'd just stop talking at this point…" Snitch muttered.

Skittery opened his mouth to let out a scathing insult but the sound of the door swinging open cut him off.

"Guys!" Mush came pelting from the door and threw his arms exuberantly around them.

Skittery took a step back and examined him. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. Mush looked ridiculously well. His face was full of color and his eyes, usually spacey and not-there were alert and bright. He was even wearing his usual cargo shorts and Inter Milan shirt. While Mush hugged each boy in turn, Skittery couldn't help but think that an impartial observer wouldn't even be able to tell which one of the boys was the patient.

Mush hung onto Blink long and last.

"Hey," he said with a smile. "I wanna talk to Blink privately. Can you guys go to the game room? It's the—"

"Third door on the right," Skittery said. "I remember."

The three of them left the semi-couple in the waiting room and headed off to the narrow recreation room that housed only an NES system with Jeopardy in it.

"So…" Snitch said as he sat down. "We graduate in a month and a half. Fucking terrifying."

David nodded. "Yeah. Not as terrifying as the fact that I'm going to have to read a speech. Isn't it too early to choose a Valedictorian?"

Skittery shook his head. "Davey, it's been two years. You should know that JPHS—"

"Formerly PS 112," Snitch interrupted.

"…You should know that Homo High doesn't do _anything_ normal."

They fell silent.

"So…a tour," David said after a moment. "How'd Oscar manage that? Didn't he and Luca _just_ form their band?"

"Luca's dad, Nino, is in the business or something."

"I'm gonna miss you."

Skittery smiled. "Me too. Maybe I'll come visit you when they do a gig near Berkley."

"Visit me when you dicks go to Florida!" Snitch exclaimed, throwing his arms dramatically around them both. "To visit me and Swifty."

David and Skittery exchanged a bemused look before one of compassion replaced it and they found themselves hugging Snitch back.

"I'm really gonna miss you guys," David said quietly. "You were really the first friends I had."

"Aww, mushy!" Snitch teased but his voice sounded clogged.

"Hey," Skittery said, breaking the spontaneous group hug. "We still have a month and a half."

"Yeah…"

They collapsed into another hug.

--

Blink and Mush walked hand in hand along the lake behind the hospital. If it weren't for the cameras lurking in every bush, it gave them a real feeling of aloneness. Mush settled under a tree, breaking his hold of Blink's hand.

"I love you," he said, looking out onto the lake.

Blink followed his gaze. The lake didn't ripple at all in the still air. It seemed almost solid. Like he could walk on it. He wondered idly if he could.

"I love you too," he replied.

Mush shrugged. "Sure…like you'd love a freak like me."

"Mush…"

He whipped his head around.

"No. Blink, I think we shouldn't see each other anymore," he said in a hard voice that Blink didn't know he had in him.

"What? You can't be serious."

"As a brain tumor," he replied. "Not just because I'm here. We've been broken up all year. We just never realized it. I was insane and I didn't notice how it was affecting everyone else. We need to not see each other for awhile. I need time and you need time."

"Mush…" he tried again.

He shook his head. "Blink, I love you but…we can't do this."

Turning his head, Mush smiled sheepishly.

"I wrote all that down so I'd remember to say it right."

His last sentence made him want to cry. It was quintessential Mush. He had never loved him more than he did at that moment. But he could see that he was right.

"Can I have one last kiss at least?"

Mush leaned in and they shared a full, soft kiss. And Blink really did cry.

--

When Skittery dropped him off, David noticed one thing different about the stoop in front of his apartment building. It was still covered in illegible graffiti. Still speckled with pigeon droppings and blackened gum stains but something was making it entirely different.

Jack was on it.

David couldn't remember the last time he had even seen Jack let alone hugged him or kissed him. He smiled.

"Hey."

"Davey…sit down."

The tone in Jack's voice made him do as he was told. He sat on the steps and looked at his face. Jack. The boy he loved and probably would love for as long as he could. He reached out to stroke his cheek, almost disbelieving that he could ever be mad at him.

"I'm still not going to college," he said. "I'm sorry but…I've never been out of New York. Never seen the world. Davey, I wanna shake my foundations. I wanna go to Europe and see art and eat really expensive food in tiny portions and drink before I'm legal."

"Jack, you _don't_ eat."

He smiled. "Such a David answer. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Jack put an arm around him and David allowed himself to be pulled into the embrace. He kissed his curls.

"I have to do this, Davey."

He sighed. "I know…I always knew. I just didn't want it. I wanted you to go to college with me."

Jack moved his lips to David's temple. "I know you did. And I'm sorry about that but…I gotta do this. It's what _I_ want."

David tilted his face up to his and kissed is cheek.

"Write me letters, Jack. Write me long letters. And promise me that you'll come see me again."

"I promise."

They kissed full on the lips. When they parted, he smiled up at him.

"Go shake your foundations, Cowboy."


	61. Don't Ask Me Why

**A/N: **a much longer author's note will be the next chapter but this is just a preface or some garbage. Yes, in the last few chapters there were time jumps. Well, only a few things needed to happen and I don't think that you guys needed twenty chapters of random drivel when you wanted storylines to advance.

--

Skittery took a long swig from the bottle of champagne.

"To us!" he slurred. "And many, many happy trappels…travels."

He passed the bottle to Snitch who drank heartily from it. Skittery leaned back into Oscar's chest. It may have been the equivalent to four glasses of champagne he just drank but he felt at one with the world. He was graduating today and he was going on tour with his rocker boyfriend. He wasn't surprised when he didn't get into anything but community college. He had missed most of his freshmen year and most colleges didn't want to take a formerly suicidal kid for some reason.

The only one not partaking in their merriment was David who had chosen to remain sober when he delivered his speech. Well, David and Mush, who claimed that drinking could interfere with his medication. He wasn't even graduating but had come for the ceremony anyway.

"Well, I for one, am _thrilled_ to finally be graduating," Luca said, taking the bottle from Snitch. "This school has way too much crap going on."

"You said it," Swifty agreed, putting his arms around Snitch. "It's like _One Tree Creek_ or whatever here."

Oscar nuzzled a little in Skittery's messy hair; much to his father's chagrin, he had refused to put any "product" in his arm.

"I love how booze makes you sappy," he said, tilting his face up for a kiss.

Oscar smirked. "So, what do you want for graduation?"

He cuddled into his arms, trying to feel a little delicate despite the fact that he was taller than him.

"Hmm…Glass Houses record," he murmured. "And…for you to come out to your parents."

Oscar froze and, even in his semi-inebriated state, a look of sheer terror crossed his face.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes." He nodded perhaps a bit more than he should have. "It's been a year and a half. So…go."

Snitch burst into drunken laughter while Mush and David gave sober, scared looks. Apparently, they feared a resurgence of the Psycho from Sicily.

But Oscar only nodded.

"Fine. But I want to get good and toasted first." He held his hand out. "Rizzio, pass the fucking bottle."

--

Spot was being appraised. He stood in the main hallway of the school, just outside of the gym. Most schools rented somewhere but Homo High used its "Athletic Facility" for its graduations.

He stood, feeling ridiculous, with his arms spread while he was inspected to check for any stray hairs or—God forbid—a pimple. It was something all children probably had to go through when they graduated except Spot's varied slightly. Mostly to do with the fact that it wasn't his own mother doing the inspecting. His parents were in Vermont and claimed that they couldn't come to see their only son graduate.

Instead, Eva was playing mother hen to him. She was decked out in a lilac pantsuit with an extremely wide-brimmed, matching hat complete with dove feathers.

"I told you that you'd look good in Agnes B.," she said with a smile, fingering the suit she had given him.

"Thanks," Spot said, not really seeing the use for the fancy suit. Especially considering the fact that he was going to be wearing a drab, black gown over it.

"Patrick looks super cool!" Hester proclaimed, bouncing up and down excitedly.

"Yeah!" Corbin agreed.

Spot smirked down at them, in little Brooks Brothers suits with huge smiles. He noticed that Hester held something in his hand; a folded up piece of paper.

"What's that?"

He looked at it. "Oh! The other kids drew you a picture. They wanted us to bring it to you."

He handed it over and Spot unfolded the cream-colored construction paper. There was a badly drawn him standing on a stage getting handed what appeared to be a scribble of hay bound with a streak of red by a guy with a beard standing behind a brown square. It was horribly drawn in crayon but it made Spot's heart ache in a way that he couldn't explain.

"Thanks," he said, feeling something sting his eyes. He reached up and felt a salty discharge he hadn't felt in a long time. He was crying. Sentimentally crying.

Without thinking he dropped to his knees and gave the two boys a hug. Like children, they wriggled but eventually hugged him back. Over their shoulders, he glanced back at the picture.

"What's that green thing in the corner?"

"Danny wanted to draw Godzilla," Corbin explained.

He hugged them tightly before letting up, glancing around to make sure that no one saw.

"So, Patrick." Eva leaned forward to adjust his suit again. "You never told us your plans. I heard you applied to colleges."

Spot glanced down at the drawing in his hand and wiped away a stray tear, leaving no evidence of his emotional display.

"I think…I think I'll be a teacher," he said.

--

David and Luca led a drunken Oscar back to where their two families stood. Mrs. DeLancey—or Angela as she told everyone to call her—was playing with Allen while Les stood uncomfortably by in a suit. David felt very out of place in his cap and gown and was very glad to be standing with two others.

"He has something to tell you." Luca shoved Oscar at his parents.

Oscar looked around, confused, before looking at his parents.

"Ma, papa…"

"Wait!" Esther intruded. "I'm sorry, Oliver, but my husband has to say something to you guys."

David looked at his father; the man who hadn't said a word to him voluntarily in a year. A whole year. The man who asked people to ask him to pass side dishes at dinner. The man who said that he didn't have a son.

"Congratulations," he said after clearing his throat. He then leaned forward and hugged David. "I mean it."

David hugged his father back and fought back tears.

"Emotional, emotional," Sarah said. "Come on, let's go find our seats."

Luca grabbed her arm. Morris glared at him.

"Watch it, Jersey boy."

Luca waved him away. "Oscar needs to say something."

Oscar blinked at him. Luca kicked him in the leg.

"Oscar?"

"Right!" he exclaimed before turning to his parents with his arms outstretched. "Ma, papa…I'm gay."

They exchanged a brief look before his mother turned to him, smiling brightly with Allen in her arms.

"Sweetie…we know. You're not very good at hiding it."

Luca burst into laughter and soon everyone joined in.

"What? Really?"

His father nodded. "Really. Plus, Morris told us."

That sobered him up. Oscar lunged at his brother.

"Morris, you fucking son of a bitch! I'll fucking kill you! You said you wouldn't tell!"

Luca pulled him away. "Cousin, I don't think it'll be wise to get yourself kicked out of your _own_ graduation."

David let go of his father and nodded. "Yeah. We should start heading in there."

Before he could move, his mother was on top him, hugging him tightly.

"Oh, Davey, we're so proud of you!" she sobbed. "Go say your speech and be a winner!"

"Be a…what?" he put a hand on his cap to keep it from being smashed.

Luca was already hauling him into the gym. David waved to his parents.

"I'll see you afterwards!" he called.

--

David took a deep breath. He wished that he could be in the folding chairs set up in the gym like everyone else. He tried to look out at the mass of students, hoping to see a familiar face but everyone was blurry from his far distance a good ten feet behind the podium. He wiped his sweaty palms on his hands and ran his speech over and over again mentally. He wasn't prepared but he was over prepared. It was like that Alanis Morissette song.

"But what it all comes down to, my friend. Is that everything is gonna be fine, fine…fine," he mumbled under his breath.

One of the speakers, the JFK-obsessed Mr. Landis, looked at him strangely. David flashed a sheepish smile and returned to wiping his palms on his gown. Vice Principal Snyder was rambling on and on but his words were a blur. Until his last sentence.

"And now our valedictorian, David Jacobs, will address the class." He stood back and glared at David as though he was already supposed to be up there.

David took another deep breath and got up. The walk to the podium seemed to take years, no, centuries. Finally, after eons of travel, traveling billions of light-years from his little folding chair, he reached the wooden podium. As he stared out at the mass of students, a strange calm enveloped him. Forcing a smile on his face, he leaned in towards the microphone.

"When I came to Joseph Pulitzer High School, back before it had a name. Well, _right_ before it anyway. Well, when I came here, I literally had no friends. I was a nobody from Chester, New York. You guys probably have never heard of it. But it was where I grew up. It wasn't until I got here and met people I could connect with. I met some of the greatest people here. I know that some people say that you never will stay friends with those you knew from high school but I think I can safely say that those here are the exception."

David paused and looked out at the students. He recognized Skittery and Blink. Snitch was sitting a little further back with the R's while Blink had managed to hustle his way into the N's.

"I met people here who made me become comfortable with myself and who I could truly care about."

He found Jack seated in the K's, smiling at him—or so he assumed.

"And that is why I'm here today. I'm not just some kid graduating from some high school in Manhattan. I'm a kid who graduated valedictorian and actually _has_ friends."

That earned a chuckle from those assembled. David opened his mouth to speak more but Vice Principal Snyder was signaling for him to wrap it up by rolling his hands. Apparently, his last statement wasn't exactly thrilling.

"So, I have to say that these two years at Joseph Pulitzer High have shaped me more than my ten years of schooling prior to coming here." Snyder was still doing the hand thing. David smiled and turned back to the microphone. "In conclusion, I'd like to quote a great man as we go into the future. And, no, I don't mean Robert Frost and 'two roads diverged in a yellow wood' or some played out Green Day lyrics."

Another chuckle. David sought out Skittery specifically in the assembly and gave him a small nod. Apparently, he noticed it because he nodded back.

"Don't wait for answers. Just take your chances..." he shrugged. "Don't ask me why."


	62. Ending Note

**Ending Note:**

First of all, I'd like to thank all of my readers and reviewers. You guys stuck with me through the hiatus and my drag and everything. You guys are completely awesome and gave me the whatnot to go on.

--

To Numbuh126: your reviews never fail to crack me up.

To Rustie: You are awesome, girl. You cheer me up when I'm down, you inspire me to continue and your LJ entries are always lol-worthy. Thanks for believing my conspiracy as well. XD

To Oxymoronic Alliteration: Thank you for getting all of my most obscure references. XD You are awesome.

--

To Pennylayne:

If it weren't for you, there wouldn't _be_ a DAMY. I thought no one read it when I had four chapters and one review. Then you came and gave me new hope. You are an awesome person and our friendship has gone beyond just the writing world. You are truly one of my best friends and I'm glad that this fic made it able for us to meet.

--

I know I'm forgetting people but forgive me, I'm actually pretty emotional. But all of you out there rock out loud. Thank you. And, yes, the open ends are on purpose. :


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